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JAMES  M  FLAGG 


(Dedicated    to    my    faithful 
Anna  Katherine 


THE  STYLUS         EDITION,  PUBLISHED 

BY 

NEW    YORK 

Copyright    1916 


#  4*  #  4*  4*  4*  4*4?  4*  +.4'  4* 

STYLUS  EDITION 


4       VOLUME  FIVE 


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4»  _A4W^  /«  77/ £  Manner  Of  The  Psycho 
«§»  logical  Autobiographists. 


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The  literary  giant page  ...  10 

Telcani 14 

Meritorious  idiocy    .   .   T  .  .   .\   .  .   .   .  .25 

The  Mundist 28 

The  copper  box 34 

Unearthly  clay 39 

The  case  of  James  Gaffeen 46 

The    literary  martyr 49 

Poetry      essay     57 

An    ultimate     experience     . 65 

Marco     Popperrelli 79 

The  Genius         84 

Suicide  87 

POEMS 


Introduction    to     poems  99 

Melancholy  100 

Sacramental  1 00-a 

The    Thorough  Bohemian  100-5 

Man    and    Beast  100-c 

continued 


The   Sky  Pilot              .     . 

100-  d 

It  is  to  Dream 

100-e 

Paternity  « 

100-/ 

King  Death 

100-g 

The  Poet  and  the  Sparrow 

lOO-fl 

The  Formless  Fiend    . 

101 

Jure  Divino 

102 

Aeons  of  Ages 

103 

The  CamerisT: 

104 

Eternal  Solitude 

105 

Immortality 

109 

Twilight 

112 

The  Good  Ship  Styx. 

113 

Monogamy 

117 

The  Last  Look 

118 

So  drooped  the  girl 

120 

The  Death  of  Leonora    . 

124 

The     Politician 

126 

The  Literary  Goat 

127 

Wake.   Lady  Wake  ! .      .     . 

128 

Retrospection 

129 

A  Heart  To  Let         .      .     . 

131 

Old  Romance 

132 

R1578302 


FOREWORD 

Among  the  elements  which  go  to  the  making 
of  the  true  work  of  art,  the  daemonic  holds  nrfl 
place.  It  is  the  essential  and  peculiar  quality 
of  genius,—-  the  quality  which  lies  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  mosl  exacling  and  intelligent  work, 
as  it  lies  beyond  the  search  of  analysis.  Any 
man  may  learn  the  secrets  of  form ;  he  may 
become  an  adept  in  the  skill  of  his  craft  ;  but 
the  final  felicity  of  touch,  the  ultimate  grace 
of  effortless  power,  elude  and  baffle  him.  The 
writings  of  Flagg  flow  with  the  natural  diftintive 
and  deliberate  grace  of  a  literati.  His  strongest 
feature,  no  doubt,  lies  in  a  m.xi  pronouced 
individuality ;  but  that  his  woA  is  undying 
literature  cannot  be  denied. 

PUBLISHER. 


«$»  <§»  <f»  <f*  •f"f*  *f*  4"i° 


Speaking  of  death,   1  must  sing  ;  — 
Or  die  with  songs  unsung. 


<§»«f»«$»«$»«f»<f».<f»«^i$i 


AUTHOR'S    NOTE 

The  writings  herein,  will,  no  doubt,  throw 
those  of  a  critical  turn,  into  a  fit  of  rage  and 
fury;  know  then,  that  this  work  is  the  result  of 
my  style  of  doing  things,  utterly  regardless  of 
the  ancient  and  stereotyped  methods  that  are 
generally  exercised;  and,  as  I  am  not  composing 
a  novel,  but  writing  for  my  own  amusement,  1 
do  not  deem  it  necessary  to  have  any  recourse 
to  the  customary  devices  of  the  literary  person. 

However,  hereditary  poverty,  has,  I  feel,  af- 
forded me  an  understanding  of  no  common  order. 
And  a  contemplative  turn  of  mind  has  enabled 
me  to  methodize  the  slores  that  years  of  exper- 
ience have  very  diligently  garnered  up.  Above 
all  things,  the  Study  of  the  weird  and  fantastic 
has  given  me  great  delight;  slill,  my  habits  of 
rigid  thought  enables  me  to  detecft  there  every 
falsity.  And  I  can  only  add  that  the  common- 
place, in  all  its  forms  and  phases,  has  been,  to 
my    mind,  a   dead  letter   and  a  nullity. 

THE    AUTHOR. 


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THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  SNARK 


Of  my  morals  or  of  my  principles 
1  have  little  to  say.  Free-thinking  and 
social  conditions  have  cured  me  of  the 
one,  and  tore  me  from  the  other.  It 
was,  if  1  am  not  mistaken,  man's  in- 
humanity to  man,  that  has  taught  me 
the  cool  logic  that  lies  in  the  "  survival 
of  the  fittest" 

After  many  years  spent  in  foreign 
travel,  I  sailed  in  the  year  of  1907 
April  23rd.  from  the  port  of  Frisco, 
on  a  voyage  that  was  to  extend  around 
the  world.  I  went  as  passenger  — 
having  no  other  inducement  than  a 
kind  of  nervous  restlessness  which, 
haunted  me  as  a  fiend.  Our  vessel, 
however,  was  but  a  forty-five  foot  af- 
fair, copper  fastened,  and  built  at 
Sausilito  of  the  finest  teak.     She  was 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

bent  on  a  trip  of  adventure,  comman- 
deered by  Jacque  London,  a  famous 
sociologist  and  writer ;  there  were  but 
seven  souls  upon  the  ship,  (that  is,  if 
a  jap  really  has  a  soul;  for  Paul  Toccigi 
was  he,  that  made  the  seventh)  Mrs 
Charmeois  London  was  the  only  lady 
aboard,  she  was  of  thorough  american 
Stock,  and  possessed  a  mind  of  the 
very  highest  order.  While  we  were  all 
passengers,  we  were  at  the  same  time 
the  crew.  We  got  under  way  in 
the  early  morning,  and  amid  the  cheers 
of  thousands  of  doubting  and  curious 
spectators. 

For  many  days  we  rode  the  high 
seas  of  the  great  Pacific,  without  even 
the  passing  of  another  vessel  to  be- 
guile the  monotony  of  our  course. 


ii 


The  Cruise  ofTheSnark 

One  evening,  leaning  over  the  taff- 
rail,  I  observed  a  very  singular,  isolated 
cloud,  to  the  north  west;  it  was  re- 
markable, as  well  for  its  color,  as  from 
its  being  the  first  we  had  seen  since 
our  departure  from  Frisco.  1  watched 
it  attentively  until  sunset,  when  it 
spread  all  at  once  into  a  long  line 
across  the  heavens. 

My  attention  was  soon  afterward 
attracted  by  the  dusky  red  appearance 
of  the  moon,  and  the  peculiar  char- 
acter of  the  sea.  The  latter  v/as  under 
going  a  rapid  change,  and  the  water 
seemed  more  than  usually  disturbed. 
The  air  now  became  intolerably  hot, 
and  was  of  a  very  suffocating  nature; 
as  night  came  on,  every  breath  of 
wind  died  away,  and  all  became   calm 


HI 


The  Cruise  oftheSnark 

beyond  belief.  However,  London, 
who  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his 
life  upon  the  sea,  assured  us  that  he 
could  perceive  no  indication  of  danger, 
and  upon  this  night  he  set  no  watch. 

I  went  below  —  but  with  a  full 
presentiment  of  evil;  indeed,  every 
appearance  warranted  me  in  appre- 
hending a  typhoon.  I  spoke  of  my 
fears  to  London;  but  he  paid  little 
or  no  attention  to  my  suspicions,  and 
left  me  with  a  glint  in  his  eye  of  utter 
sarcasm;  he  was  a  man  who  knew  no 
fear,  and  my  uneasiness  seemed  to 
nauseat  him  to  the  core.  However,  1 
found  it  impossible  to  sleep,  and  about 
midnight  I  went  upon  deck.  ---  As  1 
placed  my  foot  upon  the  upper  step 
of  the  companion-ladder,  I  was  startled 


!V 


The  Cruise  ofTheSnark 

by  a  loud,  humming  noise  it  was  a 
most  peculiar  sound  ,and  1  was  only 
a  moment  in  determining  it  for  what  it 
was  —  a  gigantic  hurrican.  In  the 
next  instant,  a  wilderness  of  foam 
hurled  us  upon  our  beam -ends,  and, 
rushing  over  us  fore  and  aft,  swept  the 
entire  decks  from  stem  to  stern. 

The  extreme  fury  of  the  blast  proved 
in  a  great  measure,  the  salvation  of 
the  ship.  Although  completely  water- 
logged, yet,  as  her  masts  had  gone  by 
the  board,  she  rose,  after  a  minute, 
heavily  from  the  sea,  and,  staggering 
awhile  beneath  the  immense  pressure 
of  the  tempest,  finally  righted.  By 
what  miracle  I  escaped  destruction, 
it  is  impossible  to  say.  Stunned  by 
the  shock  of  the  water,  I  found  myself, 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

upon  recovery,  jammed  in  between  the 
Stern-post  and  rudder.  With  great 
difficulty  I  gained  my  feet,  and  looking 
dizzily  around,  was,  at  first,  struck  with 
the  idea  of  our  being  among  breakers; 
so  terrific,  beyond  the  wildest  im- 
agination, was  the  whirlpool  of  foaming 
waters  within  which  we  were  engulfed 
After  a  while,  I  heard  the  voice  of 
London,  and  I  hallooed  to  him  with 
all  my  strength,  and  presently  he  came 
reeling  aft. 

we  soon  learned  that  three  souls 
were  all  that  had  survived  the  catas- 
trophe; —  London,  Martini,  and  my 
self.  The  entire  remainder  of  the 
party  had,  from  all  appearance,  been 
swept  into  the  sea.  Without  assistance 
we  could    expect  to  do    little  for  the 


VI 


the  Cruise  ofTheSnark 

security  of  the  ship,  and  our  exertions 
were  at  first  paralized  by  the  mom- 
entary expectation  of  going  down. 
Our  cable  had,  of  course,  parted  like 
so  much  thread,  at  the  very  first  breath 
of  the  storm ;  while  the  engine,  such 
as  it  was,  had  never  been  in  the  run- 
ning. 

We  scudded  with  frightful  velocity 
before  the  sea,  and  the  heavy  waves 
beat  against  our  sides  in  a  series  of 
horrifying  thuds;  the  frame  work  of  our 
stern  was  shattered  excessively,and, 
in  almost  every  respect,  we  had  re- 
ceived considerable  injury  ;  but  to  our 
extreme  joy  wefound  the  pumps un- 
choked,  and  that  we  had  made  no 
great  shifting  of  our  ballast.  The 
main    fury  of  the   blast  had  already 


VII 


the  cruise  ofTheSnark 

blown  over,  and  we  apprehended 
little  danger  from  the  violence  of  the 
wind  ;  but  we  looked  forward  to  its 
total  cessation  with  dismay ;  well  be- 
lieving, that,  in  our  shattered  condition 
we  should  inevitably  perish  in  the 
tremendous  swell  which  would  ensue. 

Yet,  by  some  strange  idiosyncrasy  of 
fate,  we  were  spared  ;  but  were  tossed 
unmercifully  about  the  face  of  the 
deep  for  many  days  and  nights  --- 
during  which  our  only  subsistence  was 
a  small  quantity  of  jaggeree,  procured 
with  great  difficulty  from  the  forecastle 
---  we  tottered  about  the  sea  in  a 
most  miserable  manner,  and  well  con- 
scious that  we  were  in  a  seldom 
traveled  part  of  the  globe.  Again 
we  were  victims  of  a  heavy  blast,  and 

VIII 


The  Cruise  ofTheSnark 

it  seemed  as  though  the  tempesT:  had 
descended  upon  us  with  redoubled 
fury.  Late  in  the  afternoon  it  was 
utterly  impossible;  to  sland  up  againsl 
the  violence  of  the  elements  ;  and 
as  the  night  closed  upon  us,  I  had 
not  a  shadow  of  hope  that  the  vessel 
would  hold  together  until  morning. 
By  midnight  we  had  settled  very  deep 
into  the  water,  which  was  now  up  to 
the  orlop  deck. 

The  rudder  went  soon  afterward, 
the  sea  which  tore  it  away  lifting  the 
after  portion  of  the  brig  entirely  from 
the  water,  againsl  which  she  thumped 
in  her  descent  with  such  a  concussion 
as  would  be  occasioned  by  going 
ashore,  we  had  calculated  that  the 
rudder  would  hold  its  own  to  the  lasl 


IX 


The  Cruise  Of  the  Sn  ark 

as  it  was  unusually  Strong,  being  rigged 
as  I  have  never  seen  one  rigged 
either  before  or  since.  Down  its  main 
timber  there  ran  a  succession  of  stout 
iron  hooks,  and  others  in  the  same 
manner  down  the  stern  post  Thru' 
these  hooks  there  extended  a  very 
thick  wrought-iron  rod,  the  rudder 
being  thus  held  to  the  stern-post, 
and  swinging  freely  on  the  rod.   The 

tremendous  force  of  the  sea  which 
tore  it  off  may  be  estimated  by  the 
fact,  that  the  hooks  in  the  stern-post, 
which  ran  entirely  through  it,  being 
clinched  on  the  inside,  were  drawn 
every  one  of  them  completely  out 
of  the  solid  wood.  We  had  scarcely 
time  to  draw  breath  after  the  violence 
of  this  shock,  when  one  of  the  most 


The  cruise  OfTheSnark 

tremendous  waves  I  had  then  ever 
known  broke  right  on  board  of  us, 
sweeping  the  companion-way  clear 
off,  bursting  in  the  hatchways,  and 
rilling  every  discernible  quarter  with 
water. 

Luckily,  just  before  midnight,  all 
three  of  us  had  lashed  ourselves  to 
the  fragments  of  the  windlass,  lying 
in  this  manner  as  flat  upon  the  deck 
as  possible  ;  and  this  precaution  a- 
lone  saved  us  from  destruction.  As 
it  was  we  were  all  more  or  less  stunned 
by  the  immense  weight  of  water 
which  tumbled  upon  us,  and  which 
did  not  roll  from  above  us  until  we 
were  nearly  exhausted.  As  soon  as 
I  could  recover  breath,  I  called  aloud 
to  my    companions.      London    alone 


XI 


The  Cruise  of  The  Snark 

replied,  saying,  "  It  appears  to  be  all 
over  with  us,  but  let  us  slrive  to  lasl 
as  long  as  possible,  then— may  God 
have  mercy  on  our  souls." 

We  all  glanced  at  each  other  as 
though  it  was  for  the  lasT:  time,  then 
quietly  submitted  ourselves  to  Fate's 
further  lashings.  The  night  was  as 
dark  as  it  possibly  could  be,  and 
the  horrible  shrieking  din  and  con- 
fusion which  surrounded  us  it  is  useless 
to  attempt  describing. 

Our  deck  lay  level  with  the  sea 
or  rather  we  were  encircled  with  a 
towering  ridge  of  foam,  a  portion  of 
which  swept  over  us  every  inslant. 
Although  we  lay  close  together,  no 
one  of  us  could  see  the  other,  or  in- 
deed, any  portion  of  the  brig   itsel  f , 


XII 


the  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

upon  which  we  were  so  tempestu- 
ously hurled  about.  At  intervals  we 
called  one  to  the  other,  thus  endeav- 
ouring to  keep  alive  hope,  and  render 
consolation  and  encouragement  to 
such  of  us  as  stood  most  in  need  of  it. 

The  feeble  condition  of  Martini 
made  him  an  object  of  solicitude 
with  London  and  I,  and  we  were 
in  momentary  expectation  of  finding 
that  he  had  gone  over  board  — -  yet 
to  render  him  aid  was  a  thing  al- 
together out  of  the  question. 

Our  situation  was  a  frightful  one 
and  after  a  long,  long  period  the  day 
broke,  but  only  to  make  visible  the 
horrors  which  surrounded  us.  The 
Snark  was  a  mere  log,  rolling  about 
at  the  mercy  of  every  wave  ;  but  the 

XIII 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

gale  was  fastly  decreasing,  and  in  a 
short  time  the  sea  was  a  perfect  calm. 

Never  before  did  I  appreciate  the 
blessed  sunshine  as  now  ;  and  after 
some  rather  difficult  reckoning,  1  man- 
aged to  determine  that  we  had  been 
at  sea  just  twenty  seven  days;  after 
being  out  nineteen  days  we  had  cros- 
sed into  the  torrid  zone ;  we  had 
been  at  the  mercy  of  the  storm 
for  eight  days ;  and  as  we  had  left 
the  Bay  of  Frisco  April  23rd.  it  was 
now,  no  doubt,  the  twentieth  of  May. 

The  entire  body  of  water  east  of 
us  was  bathed  in  sunshine,  and  a 
heavy  fog  that  smothered  over  us 
during  the  night,  was  sliding  rapidly 
westward.  We  suffered  mostly  now 
from    the    terrible  pangs   of  hunger. 

XIV 


The  cruise  ofTheSnark 

When  we  looked  forward  to  means 
of  relief  that  would  satisfy  our  thirsl  and 
hunger,  our  hearts  sunk  within  us,  and 
we  were  induced  to  regret  that  we 
had  escaped  the  perils  of  the  sea 
only  to  fall  to  a  fate  more  terrible. 

We  endeavored,  however,  to  con- 
sole ourselves  with  the  hope  of 
being  speedily  picked  up  by  some 
vessel,  and  encouraged  each  other  to 
bear  with  fortitude  the  evils  that  might 
happen. 

London  and  Martini  were  slretched 
out  upon  their  backs  from  utter 
fatigue,  while  I  sat  dreamily  watching 
the  fog  rapidly  disappear  to  westward. 
The  lifting  of  the  fog  was  the  lift- 
ing of  my  sorrow,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  ecslatic  joy  which  thrilled 


xv 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

through  every  particle  of  my  frame 
when  I  perceived  a  large  brig  bearing 
down  upon  us,  and  not  quite  a  mile 
away. 

1  was  to  my  feet  in  an  instant ; 
and,  sketching  out  my  arms  in  the 
direction  of  the  vessel,  stood  in  this 
manner,  motionless,  and  unable  to 
articulate  a  syllable.  My  two  com- 
panions were  equally  affected,  only 
in  different  ways.  Martini  danced 
about  the  deck  like  a  madman,  ut- 
tering the  most  extravagant  rhodc- 
montades,  intermingled  with  howls 
and  imprecations  ;  while  London 
bowed  his  head,  opening  and  closing 
his  hands  like  one  about  to  receive 
the  sentence  of  death.  The  vessel 
in  sight  was  a  large  antique   affair  of 


XVI 


The  cruise  OfTheSnark 

an  old  English  build,  painted  black 
with  a  tawdry  gilt  figurehead. 

She  had  evidently  seen  a  great 
deal  of  rough  weather,  and,  we  sup- 
posed, had  suffered  much  in  the  gale 
which  had  proved  so  disastrous  to 
ourselves;  for  her  foretopmasl:  was 
gone,  and  some  of  her  Starboard  bul- 
warks. 

When  we  firs!  saw  her,  she  was, 
as  I  have  already  said,  less  than  a 
mile  away  to  windward,  bearing 
down  upon  us. 

The  breeze  was  very  gentle,  and 
what  astonished  us  chiefly  was,  that 
she  had  no  other  sails  set  than  her  fore 
sail  and  mainsail,  with  a  flying  jib  — 
of  course  she  came  down  but  slowly, 
and  our  impatience  amounted  almost 

XVII 


The  Cruise  ofTheSnark 

to  phrenzy,  The  awkward  manner 
in  which  she  steered,  too,  was  re- 
irarked  by  the  three  of  us,  even  ex- 
cited as  we  were. 

She  yawed  about  to  such  a  degree, 
that  once  or  twice  we  thought  it 
impossible  she  could  see  us,  or  im- 
agined that,  having  seen  us,  and 
discovered  no  person  on  board,  she 
was  about  to  tack  and  make  off  in  an- 
other direction. 

Upon  each  of  these  occasions  we 
screamed  and  shouled  at  the  top  of 
our  voices,  when  the  Stranger  would 
appear  to  change  for  a  moment  her 
intention,  and  again  hold  on  toward 
us  —  this  singular  conduct  being  re- 
peated two  or  three  times,  so  at  last 
we  derived  at  the  conclusion  that  the 

XVIII 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

helmsman  was  intoxicated.  We  could 
discern  no  one  upon  her  deck  at  no 
time  ;  still,  she  neared,  and  neared 
and  now  more  steadily  than  before. 

She  soon  slid  along  side  and  with 
unrestrained  enthusiasm  we  leaped  a- 
board,  we  had  little  or  no  trouble 
in  this  feat  as  she  was  a  low  built 
wind-jammer  of  Malabar  teak. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  the  triple  horror 
that  confronted  us  ?  There  were 
thirteen  human  bodies,  among  whom 
were  several  females,  lay  scattered 
about  the  deck  in  miserable  attitudes, 
and  we  plainly  saw  that  not  a  soul 
lived  on  that  fated  vessel  !  Yet,  we 
could  not  help  but  turning  to  them 
for  aid  /  At  all  hazards  our  lives  were 
spared;   and  we  at  once  busied  our- 

XIX 


The  Cruise  ofTheSnark 

selves  in  ramsacking  about  for  food 
and  drink ;  but  there  was  none,  and 
had'nt  been  for  at  least  a  hundred  years] 
To  our  deep  sorrow  we  learned 
this  fact,  and  we  came  by  this  know- 
ledge, both  by  the  ship's  log  and  by 
grace  of  other  records  that  were  left. 

It  seemed  that  about  a  century  ago, 
it  was  a  Brittish  convict  ship*  that 
plied  between  England  proper,  and 
her  south-sea  possessions.  An  aged 
note  clutched  in  the  hand  of  what 
had  been  the  last  survivor,  read  as 
follows : 

October  (?)  1  797. 
All  on  board  are  dead  and  I  am  dying 
we  were  all  prisoners  save  the    five 
in  the  torture    cell  in  the  steerage, 
who  are  officers  and  victims  of  mutiny; 


4    This    ship   was   on    exi3ITion    at  the    San 
Francisco  exposition,  feb.  1915.       Editor. 


XX 


The  cruise  ofTheSnark 

we  have  been  frozen  in  solid  ice  for 

a  hundred  and  forty  days,  there's  no 

more  food,  no  food. 

Robert  Casement. 

No  food]  We  scared  about  us  help- 
lessly, and  staggered  to  the  compan- 
way  and  went  below  ;  the  atmosphere 
was  of  iciness  itself,  and  judging 
from  the  great  ice-cakes  we  found  in 
the  hold,  what-with  the  extraordinary 
preservation  of  the  dead,  we  were 
positive  that  the  old  brig  had  but 
lately  become  freed  from  the  grip  of 
the  frigid  Antarctic  circle.  The  ice 
that  had  not  yet  melted,  furnished 
us  with  abundance  of  drinking  water 
and  this  blessing  was  so  great  that 
we  could  not  help  weeping  for  joy. 
We  drank  heavily  of  the  luscious  cool 


XXI 


THE  CRUISE  OFTMESNARK 

water,  and  clambered  back  on  to  the 
main  deck,  where  we  at  once  lay 
ourselves  down  into  a  deep  and  rest- 
ful sleep. 

When  1  awoke  some  time  later  1 
round  that  my  companions  were  still 
resting  in  peaceful  slumber ;  finding 
myself  alone,  so  to  speak,  my  reflections 
of  course,  were  of  a  fearful  and  most 
gloomy  nature. 

No  prospect  offered  itself  to  my 
view  but  a  lingering  death  by  famine, 
and  the  gnawing  of  hunger  which  1 
now  experienced  was  nearly  insup- 
portable, and  I  felt  myself  capable 
>f  going  to  any  lengths  in  order  to 
appease  it.  With  my  knife  1  cut  off 
ome  old  leather  lashings  from  a  hatch, 
and     endeavored  to  eat  them,     but 

XXII 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

found  it  utterly  impossible  to  swallow 
a  single  morsel,  but  I  found  some 
little  satisfaction  in  chewing  them  and 
spitting  them  out. 

On  comparing  the  corpse's  with 
the  book  of  consignment  which  I 
found  in  the  pocket  of  the  captain 
it  was  a  simple  matter  to  determine 
the  identity  of  all  aboard.  One  of 
the  prisoners  proved  to  be  a  rather 
interesting  personage ;  from  all  in- 
dications his  name  appeared  to  be 
Bernhardy  Shaw,  and  it  seemed  that 
he  was  sent  over  for  life,  charged 
with  conducing  a  radical  journal  thru 
which  he  was  found  guilty  of  high 
treason  ;  he  had  a  very  satonic  ap- 
pearance, and  across  his  lap  lay  a 
bread -board  into  which  he  had  deeply 

XXIII 


the  Cruise  ofTheSnark 
carved  the  following  : 

Hurrah!  hurrah  for  the  foaming  flood 
Of  the  fiery  Phlegethon, 

A  demon  bride, 
And  delvilish  bridegroom  side  by  side 
Are  sailing  this  vessel    upon  ; 
He  is  an   imp  of  the  very  best  blood 
And  she  is  a  devil  of  Ton. 

This  barque  is  the  shatterd  fragments  of 

A   lost  ship    long  ago, 

In  a  fanthomless  bav 

For  a    cycle    of   years  it    rotting  lay 
So  the  devil's  employed  it  now. 

The  braggadocio  manner  of  the 
man  instilled  me  with  renewed  courage 
and  1  resolved  to  live  on  at  any  cost. 


XXIV 


The  Cruise  oftheSnark 

When  my  companions  awoke  we 
busied  ourselves  in  tossing  the  dead 
into  the  sea  ;  one  ghastly  old  hag  of 
an  amazon  was  the  ugliest  mortal  1 
had  ever  beheld,  her  name,  according 
to  the  register,  was  Amy  Parkhurst, 
she  was  charged  with  murder-thru- 
birth-control,  and  with  circulating  lit- 
erature of  degenerating  nature. 

We  heaved  her  repulsive  carcass 
in  to  the  sea  at  once ;  and  it  was 
but  a  few  moments  until  we  had  all 
the  stiffs  over-board,  except,  ofcourse, 
the  five  that  were  locked  in  the  torture 
cell  up  in  the  steerage. 

With  an  ax  we  chopped  our  way 
into  the  small  barbarous  compartment 
the  wall  of  the  room  still  hung  with 
a  hosT:  of  icicles,  and  the  spiffs,  though 

XXV 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

dead  a  hundred  years,  were  perfectly 
preserved.  London  turned  suddenly 
toward  me  with  an  expression  that 
sent  a  shudder  through  my  frame  ; 
there  was  about  him  an  air  of  self- 
possession  which  I  had  not  noticed 
in  him  until  now,  and  before  he  had 
opened  his  lips  my  heart  told  me 
what  he  would  say.  He  proposed, 
in  a  few  words,  that  the  men  lying 
in  death  should  serve  us  as  sustenance. 

My  mind  rapidly  ran  over  a  thous- 
and absurd  projects  by  which  to  avoid 
becoming  a  partner  in  the  awful  spec- 
ulation. 

I  thought  of  falling   on  my  knees 
to  my  companions,  and  entreating  them 
to  entertain  other  views ;   or  of  sud- 
denly rushing  to  the  ships  side  and 

XXVI 


The  Cruise  oftheSnark 

plunging  into  the  sea  ;  to  my  mind, 
the  idea  of  turning  cannibal  was  ter- 
rible, but  I  was  soon  brought  to  my 
senses  by  the  voice  of  Martini,  who 
assured  me  that  they  both  felt,  no 
doubt,  as  I  myself,  but  something  had 
to  be  done. 

We  then  determined  to  carry  out 
our  frightful  undertaking  with  as  leasl: 
concern  as  we  could  possibly  assume; 
though  we  found  ways  of  cooking 
the  meat  well,  I  will  not  dwell  up- 
on the  fearful  repasT:  which  immedi- 
ately ensued. 

Such  things  may  be  imagined,  but 
words  have  no  power  to  impress  the 
mind  with  the  exquisite  horror  of 
their  reality.  Let  it  suffice  that  we 
thrived    heartily    upon  this  ungodly 

XXVII 


The  Cruise  OfTheSnark 

diet  for  many  days ;  by  some  care- 
lessness we  had  loft  all  track  of  time 
but  the  rigging  that  the  ship  was 
luckily  endowed  with,  enabled  us 
to  keep  a  straight  course,  —-a  course 
directly  west,  for  in  this  direction, 
we  knew,  lay  the  broad  coast  of 
Australia. 

But  our  reckoning  was  far  wrong, 
as  was  proved  to  us  one  sunshiny 
morning  when  a  good  stiff  breeze 
glided  us  safely  in  to  port  of  the 
beautiful  city  —   Honolulu. 


THE  LITERARY  GIANT 


cJ^p  ou  have,  no  doubt,  heard  of  an  old  time 
author,  who,  through  some  ungodly  fluke  of 
nomenclature,  has  become  known  to  the  world 
as  Shakespeare,  (see  Bacon)  He  had  a  terrible 
habit  of  giving  vent  to  his  wrath  by  swearing  in 
high  fillutin  language,  hence  our  classic  literature. 

But  he's  dead,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  and  it  be- 
hooves me  to  begin  writing  at  once.  The 
present  age  can  manage  to  put  up  with  old  Shake, 
but  posterity,  that  is  the  thing,  therefore,  I  will 
bequeath,  as  I  alone  can,  the  product  of  a  mighty 
pen,  to  posterity.  I  have  thought  proper  to  premise 
thus  much,  to  inable  you  to  appreciate  the  way  1 
have  de  nier  ce  que  est,  et  (Texplipuer  ce  qui 
nest  pas.  It  may  please  your  fancy  to  learn  the 
method  of  procedure  that  brought  me  fame  — 
simple.  It  was  thus  wise :  taking  pen  in  hand 
I  wrote  to  the  Daly-Liyer  as  follows : 

10 


The  Literary  Giant 

Editor,  Dear  Sir  :- 

What  information  have  you  concerning  the 
young  author,  Lodbrogg  the  half  wit  ?  Has  he  not 
recently  issued  a  volume  of  his  later  works,  and 
if  so,  under  what  title  ?  His  earlier  work  pro- 
mised a  brilliant  future.  His  poems  were  pal- 
pably the  precursors  of  a  finished  and  pleasing 
style.  Their  distinguishing  attraction  lies  in  the 
almost  unparalleled  flow  and  facility  of  the  vers- 
ification. A  harmony  pervades  the  whole,  a 
perfect  modulation  of  numbers  seldom  surpassed 
and  not  very  often  equalled  in  compositions  of 
this  class. 

1  understand  that  Lodbrogg  resides  at  Bentley 
and  is  contemplating  a  trip  abroad.  Is  this  true  ? 
Any  information  concerning  his  latest  work  will 
greatly  oblige, 

J.  M.  F. 

This  letter  succeeded  wonderfully;  the  editor 
bit,  and  my  fame  got  a  start  off  on  its  first  foot 

Thus  encouraged,  I  immediately  penned  an- 
other of  self  inquiry  to   "  The  Phool. "    To  wit: 


ii 


The  literary  Giant 

Editor,  Dear  sir:- 

Please  inform  me  through  your  column  as  to 
some  of  the  earlier  and  minor  poems  of  lodbrogg» 
whose  recently  published  volume  of  poems  are 
now  displayed  side-by-side  with  Keats'  work* 
in  New  York  book  stores. 

The  finished  character  of  these  poems  has  led 
me  to  make  a  study  both  of  them  and  of  the 
author,  and  for  this  reason  1  wish  to  have  his 
former  productions  before  me.  I  am  sure  they 
must  have  presaged  the  present  acknowledged 
transcendence  of  Lodbrogg.  In  "The  Politician3 
he  deals  with  passion  and  with  humor  ;  he  has 
emerged  from  abstract  and  pure  dissertation;  he 
renders  morality  visible  and  truth  expressive; 
he  gives  his  ideas  an  attractive  physiognomy. 

In  short,  he  is  a  finished  writer,  perfected 
evidently  by  a  knowledge  of  the  fine  arts.  By 
experience  with  the  world  and  study  of  style, 
by  continuous  and  delicate  study  of  all  that  is 
worthy  in  things  and  men,  in  life  and  art.  It 
has  been  stated  that  Lodbrogg  resides  at  Bent- 
ley  Iowa,    but  this  is  an  error.       He  frequently 


t2 


The  Literary  Giant 

visits  a  friend  of  his  there,  that  runs  a  moon- 
shine tonsorial  parlor ;  but  his  real  home  is  at 
the  foot  of  the  town  sewer  in  Frisco,  some 
where  in  the  west. 

He  is  said  to  be  contemplating  a  pleasure 
trip  through  the  slums^of  Reno  during  the  coming 
summer.  A  little  of  your  valuable  space  devoted 
to  this   subject  would   greatly  edify, 

J.  M.  F. 

The  editor  never  dreamed  that  1  myself,  was 
the  Lodbrogg  in  question,  and  1  arose  the  follow- 
ing morning  to  find  myself  famous.  I  was  lauded 
by  every  paper  in  the  nation.  I  felt  a  devilish 
thrill  of  pride,  like  a  virtuous  young  girl  that  is 
about  to  be  attacked  by  a  ruffian,  in  short  1  was 
elated.  And  now  that  1  am  writing  1  will  write 
as  1  please  ---  Con  tal  que  las  costumbres  de  un 
autor,  sean  puras  y  castas,  importa  muy  pocoque 
no  sean  igualmente  severas  sus  obras,  or  in  other 
words :  though  moral,  these  tales  contain  no  moral. 


~>, 


.  pjst i  »#£<  Yo  tf  °Ji  B'/r if  J  • 


jffrfi'K'-yrt 


14 


TELCANI 


Poor  Telcani.  I  knew  him  well  ;  he  was  a  fine 
manly  fellow  and  had  a  hand  as  open  as  day,  and  a 
heart  of  unsophisticated  generosity.  We  had  been 
intimate  friends  from  early  boyhood,  and  when  we  left 
college,  we  stood  together  in  this  indiscribable  world 
with  less   discribable  plans    for   the    future. 

Various  were  the  schemes  and  designs  we  projected 
for  the  advancement  of  our  fortunes,  but  each  succeed- 
ing day  found  us  as  undecided  as  ever.  Among  the 
many  amusements  we  followed,  to  beguile  the  time, 
was  that  of  rambling;  and  what  pastime  is  more  con- 
genial to  the  unionism  of  hearts,  than  a  long  walk 
through  the  ragged  mountains,  following  in  fellowship 
the  windings  of  some  beautiful  stream  as  it  curls 
about  endless  caverns  and  gigantic  cliffs,  occasionally 
losing  itself  in  dark  and  silent  forests.  One  dismal 

day,  as  the   shades  of    evening  were  drawing  on,   we 
were  loitering   leisurely   along  the  banks  of  the  river 


15 

TELCAN1 


Main,  we  were  at  least  some  seven  miles  from  any 
habitation;  and  suddenly,  as  we  emerged  from  a  dank 
cluster  of  cypress  we  found  ourselves  approaching 
upon  a  camp  of  wandering  Gipsies.  Telcani  proposed, 
that  for  a  frolic,  we  should  request  some  seer  or  seeress 
to  pass,  prophetically,  upon  our  future. 

To  this  I  gladly  assented,  and  a  moment  later  found 
us  seated  comfortably  in  the  private  quarters  of  Vera 
Gui  del;  she  was  the  belle  of  the  tribe  and  was  con- 
sidered a  genius  of  uncommon  qualifications;  Telcani 
tendered  a  piece  of  money  and  she  took  his  hand 
for  a  reading. 

"Ah"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  slowly  to  meet  his 
"Thine  is  a  meloncholy  destiny  and  I  see  that  thy 
name  is  Telcani"  she  closed  her  quivering  lids  and 
shook  her  head  in  a  most  sympathetic  manner. 

"Very  good!  that's  excellent!"  said  my  friend. 
'  'this  promises   to    be   interesting;   come   now, 

'If  thou  canst  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 
And  tell  which  will  grow  and  which  will  not/ 

"Tell  me  the  worst  that  shall  ever  befall  me  and  I  will 


16 

TELCAN1 


pay  you  well.  "See"  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
distant  evening  sky  above  the  far  horizon.  "The 
stars  are  beginning  to  burn  brightly  in  the  heavens. 
Look !  seest  thou  not  yon  planet  near  to  the  belt 
of  Orion?  'Tis  thine,"  here  she  extended  her  long 
bronze -like  arms  toward  it,  making  certain  gestures  with 
incoherent  sentences  to  herself. 

My  merry  friend  became  completely  subdued  by  her 
singular  manner,  and  gazed  upon  the  planet  intently, 
he  seemed  to  be  astonished  in  regards  to  her  know- 
ledge,   and    remained    silent    while    she     continued. 

"The  stars  are  fountains  of  truth,  as  you  are  no 
doubt  aware,  and  I  see  by  them  that  a  peril  of  a  most 
fatal  nature  awaits  you."  She  was  now  speaking  in 
accents   that  were   distinctly    english. 

"But   when  ---  where?"    asked   Telcani,    earnestly. 

"Where  the  summer  blooms  not,  and  in  a  dreary 
region,  where  the  stars  look  not  down  nor  where 
the  song  birds  ever  sing;  as  I  say,  yours  is  a  melan- 
choly destiny;  yet,  'tis  true;  my  dear,  an  evil  genius  is 
your  guide   and  your  future  is  a  perpetuity  of  clouds' 


17 

TELCANI 


"Woman!  or  witch!'*  cried  Telcani,  "you  thrill 
my  soul.  Speak  to  me  more  plainly.  You  may,  or 
you  may  not  know,  but  I  have  a  heart  for  any  danger.'* 

"1  know  thou  hast"  she  broke  in  "but  thy  star  has 
departed  from  view,  and  all  further  prescience  is  denied 

me.     Remember,    in  seven    years    thou  shalt but 

enough,"  and  she  glided  silently  from  the  hut,  leaving 
Telcani  transfixed  in  bewilderment;  I  myself  was  at 
loss  to  fully  comprehend  her  peculiar  prediction  and 
we  sat  for  some  time  in  utter  silence  and  dismay. 

Finally,  I  endeavored  to  rally  him  from  his  super- 
stitious stuper,  and  bidding  our  gipsy  friends  adieu  we 
left  the  camp  and  proceeded  on  our  journey.  Telcani 
soon  regained  his  natural  flow  of  spirits,  and  at  mid 
night,  as  we  lounged  lazily  over  our  refreshments  at  the 
inn,  the  whole  affair  was  nearly  forgotten,  still,  several 
times  we  referred  to  it,  but  only  in  a  spirit  of  mirth 
and  our  chance  companions  of  the  cafe  joined  mer- 
rily in  coining  ridiculous  puns  and  anecdotes,  at  the 
expense   of  the  wandering  sorcerers. 

Many  years  after  this  little  adventure,  I  was  residing 


18 

TELCANl 


in  one  of  the  principal  sea  ports  of  England,  where 
l  became  intimately  aquainted  with  the  captain  of  the 
Aloysius,  a  vessel  that  was  usually  employed  in  whal- 
ing excursions  along  the   shores  of  Sqitzbergen. 

From  his  agreeable  manners  in  conjunction  with  the 
glowing  description  he  gave  me  of  his  adventures  in 
that  desolate  region,  gave  me  a  strong  desire  to  make 
a  trip  there,  and  I  no  sooner  expressed  myself  in  this 
regard,  when  he  tendered  me  free  passage;  he 
treated  me  royally,  and  I  was  given  to  understand 
that  I  was  to  consider  myself  a  privileged  character 
and  that  all  hospitalities  aboard  the  Aloysius  were 
to  be  taken  for  granted.  So,  beining  comparatively  rny 
own  master,  I  at  once  accepted. 

It  was  but  a  few  weeks  later  that  we  set  sail  from 
the  port  of  Hull;  ours  was  a  gallant  crew  and  we 
put  to  sea,   satisfied  to  the  man. 

After  a  run  of  forty  days,  during  which  time  we 
visited  the  Orkney  Islands,  we  found  ourselves,  up- 
on taking  exact  reckoning  to  be  lying  btween  9  and 
24     E.     Ion.,    and    76,    30     and     80    N.      latitude. 


I  9 

TELCAN1 


The  season  selected  for  the  pursuance  of  the  fishery 
is  during  the  short  summer,  —  when  vegitation  springs 
forth  with  such  rapidity  that  the  spot,  which  perhaps 
the  night  before  was  a  plain  of  ice,  will  appear  in  the 
morning  a  fresh  and  verdant  meadow.  The  shrubs 
will  be  clothed  with  leaves,  the  air  heavy  with  fragrance 
and  the  scream  of  the  plover,  and  the  pipe  of  the  par- 
tridge  are    heard   from   every   direction. 

Having  been  extremely  fortunate  in  completing  our 
cargo  sooner  than  we  expected,  the  captain  and  myself 
resolved  to  enjoy  the  fine  shooting  that  was  to  be 
found  among  the  islands.  One  day,  so  exciting  had 
been  the  sport,  that  we  found  ourselves  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  shore,  indeed  so  far,  that  we  knew 
it  would  be  impossible   to  regain  the  ship  before  dark. 

Consulting  our  compass,  we  therefore  figured  to 
make  a  short  path  accross  the  island  (a  long  rugged  strip 
that  seperated  us  from  view  of  the  ship)  that  we  may 
be  discerned  by  the  crew,  and  save  them  from  any 
apprehension  respecting  our  safety.  On  reaching 
the  summit  of  the  ridge  that  seperated  from  view, 
we  stopped  to  regain  our  breath  and  to  take  a  circular 


20 

TELCANI 


survey  of  the  distant  surrounding.  The  sun  was  just 
sliding  below  the  horizon,  and  the  men  aboard  waved 
to  us  from  the  ship.  Turning  our  gaze  to  the  south 
we  were  surprised  to  see  a  large  vessel  as  if  lying 
at  anchor,  or  rather  imbedded  in  the  ice. 

We  were  at  loss  to  account  for  her  sudden  ap- 
pearance, especially  so  near  at  hand,  and  it  was  but 
a  few  hours  before,  too,  that  we  turned  our  glass 
in  every  direction  as  far  as  it  could  descry  and 
saw   nothing. 

Our  curiosity  was  greatly  excited  and  we  studied 
the  peculiar  craft  for  some  time.  Of  course,  we  at 
first  took  it  to  be  but  an  optical  delusion. 
But  on  learning  later  that  it  was  not,  my  com- 
panion and  1  agreed  to  pay  the  new  comer  a  visit 
upon  the  spot. 

There  was  a  sheen  of  thick  ice  that  the  ship  stood 
against  broad  side;  and  as  we  neared  her,  we  discovered 
that  the  sails  were  hanging  in  tatters;  the  rigging 
was  broken  and  entangled,  while  the  bowsprite 
seemed  to  be  gone  entirely.    There  were  no  visible 


TELCANI 

signs  of  her  being  manned  and  we  were  standing 
within  a  hundred  paces  to  where  she  was  lodged. 
She  was  a  bark  of  about  a  1000  tons  and  was 
wedged  firmly  in  the  ice.  It  was  apparent  that 
she  had  suffered  much;  I  fired  my  gun  to  attract 
some  or  whatever  attention  could  be  attracted. 

All  remained  in  absolute  silence,  save  one  soli- 
tary curlew  that  rose  from  the  deck,  that  kept 
screaming  and  wheeling  around  as  if  unwilling  to 
leave.  With  considerable  difficulty  we  climbed 
aboard;  and  as  we  decked  her,  the  first  thing  that 
greeted  our  gaze  was  the  form  of  a  dog,  stretched 
out  as  if  in  slumber.  I  touched  him  with  the 
toe  of  my  boot,  but  he  did  not  move,  and  1  then 
discovered  that  the  brute  was  stiff  and  lifeless. 

The  carcass  was  perfect  and  entire,  and  was 
without  the  slightest  sign  of  decomposition  or  de- 
cay; it  was  preserved,  no  doubt,  by  the  extreme 
severity  of  the  climate. 

Every  where  around  us  lay  emblems  of  neglect 
and  desolation,  Evidently,  the  vessel  had  been 
deserted,  but  for  what  purpose,  we  were  at 
loss  to  determine. 


"Cause   and   effect"      Painting  toy  Flags,     Now   Hanging 
In      the      Paris      Solon,      Pari9. 


"Cause  and  Effect.*-     Pahis  Solon;  Painted  by  Flaqo, 


TELCANI  22 

Cn  dis:  lacing    one   of    the    hatch    lids   we   found 

A.  O 

that  ths  cargo  Was  a  valuable  one,  and  it  was  a  sol- 
cn  n  and  singular  sight  to  find  thus  a  gallant  monarch 
cf   tne     deep,    at    tne     mercy    of    the    wind     waves. 

We  •  descended  trie  companion-way  to  the  cabin 
and  found  the  door  a-jar  ---  all  was  darkness 
and  quiet,  I  placed  my  foot  upon  some  substance  and 
as  I  bent  down  to  feel  1  encountered  a  human  hand 
that    was   cold   and    clammy. 

1  staggered  back,  startled  —  the  captain  struck  a 
light,  and  a  scene  of  horror,  of  most  indiscribabie 
nature  burst  into  view.  Around  the  table  sat  several 
bodies,  erect  and  cold,  in  the  embrace  of  Death. 

All  were  rigid  and  in  different  attitudes  and 
all  that  remained  of  the  eyes  of  each  man 
were  the  empty  sockets;  but  their  flesh  was  well 
intact,  and  in  a  wonderfully  distinct  state  of  pre- 
servation, yet,  a  green  and  viscous  mould  had 
settled  completely  over  them.  On  the  floor; 
on      the      lockers,    and     in      every      discernible 


23  TEuCANl 

quarter,  lay  bodies  cold  and  lifeless,  and  around 
the  £ove,  in  which  remained  nothing  but  a  few 
ashes,  was  a  group  of  unfortunate  beings,  as  if  in 
their  expiring  moments  they  had  crowded  together 
to    catch    the    lasT:  glow  of    the   dying    embers. 

In  a  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  sitting  erect 
and  in  a  very  dignified  attitude,  was  apparently  the 
captain.  Before  him,  lay  the  log-book,  and  in  his 
scrawny  fingers  he  clutched  a  pen,  and  had,  no  doubt, 
expired  in  the   act  of  writing. 

His  features,  like  all  the  others,  were  cold  and 
rigid.  His  was  a  pleasing  personality  and  I  felt 
that  strange,  undefinable  sympathy  of  the  soul  which 
makes  one  (in  the  society  of  certain  individuals)  feel 
an  odd  and  inexplainable  familiarity. 

This  feeling  often  leads  one  to  believe  in  the  theory 
of  reincarnation  and  we  are  determined  to  swear,  in 
the  majority  of  such  cases,  that  we  knew  the  person 
or  persons,  during  one  of  our  former  exiftances  upon 
the  earth.     I  picked  up  the  written  pages  and  read: 


TELCANI  24 

"Oct,  13  th.  1903,  -  One  hundred  and  forty  two 
days  we  have  been  frozen  in  the  ice  —  and  still  no 
prospect  of  rekef  --  the  last  of  the  entire  crew  expired 
today.  I  am  now  alone  —  my  sight  fails  —  or  perhaps 
the  lamp  burns  dimly  --  my  limbs  have  lost  all  feeling 
and  my  heart  seems  pulseless  —  no  use  the  wires  are 
down  and  nothing  is  left  to  me  but  dea n 

This  was  the  last  few  lines  of  a  long  paper  which  he 
had  written.  The  mystery  had  now  been  explained 
the  vessel  had  been  frozen  in  ice  with  all  hopes  of 
escape  shut  off,  rendering  the  crew  a  sacrifice  to  cold 
and  famine.  Turning  to  the  first  page  of  the  log  1 
was  greatly  surprised  to  read:  LOG  OF  THE  GOOD 
SHIP  JASON,  Captain  R.  Telcani.  HULL  1897. 


iZ  o^rvm^Yu^Mfffl* 


*~>^ 
•^ 


25 

MERITORIOUS  IDIOCY 

In  the  begining  (when  ever  that  was)  there  loomed 
above  the  literary  horizon,  a  clan  of  puerile  poets 
that  originated,  no  doubt,  during  the  reign  of  young 
King  Dunce,  and  during  the  days  when  Ned-in-the- 
first-reader    was  a  constituent  of  the    literati. 

It  seems  that  these  brilliants  have  extended  through 
all  the  ages,  and  even  now,  one  can  hardly  pick  up  a 
sheet  of  current  literature  without  being  confronted 
with  some  of  the  handy  work  produced  by  them. 

These  beings(?)  often  style  themselves  Meteoric 
Geniuses  —  we  have  but  to  bear  in  mind,  that  a  meteor 
of  any  considerable  brightness  is  always  closely  pursued 
by  a  comet  (an  editor)  with  firey  wings  and  murder- 
ous intentions.  In  one  hand  the  comet  carries  a  pair 
of  scissors,  in  the  other  a  club.  Often  times  a  blue 
pencil  is  tucked  maliciously  above  his  ear.  It  is  well 
to  note  the  position  of  the  scissors,  for  should  the 
comet  carry  them  in  his  waist  coat  pocket,  he  is  not 
an  editor,  but  a  clerk  in  a  dry  goods  slore  and  repre- 
sents nothing. 


Meritorious    idiocy  26 

True  genius  is  always  hated  and  persecuted  by 
the  editors,  and  if  you  wish  to  be  successful  in  lit- 
erature, you  muft  be  Stupid,  pedantic,  white-cravatted 
and  hypocritical.  A  thorough  dunder  head  is  often 
a  success  with  the  editor,  while  you,  with  your  real 
genius  only  succeed  in  exciting  his  ire. 

You  are,  no  doubt,  familiar  with  the  poet  that 
hails  from  the  "Slum-gush  School"  a  worthy  lot  of 
"Whitcombe-Longfellows"  that  beg  for  recognition 
by  filling  childrens  magazine's  with  those  playfully 
simple,  charming,  yet  wonderfully  moral  Christmas 
copy;  disgu&ingly  prefaced  as  a  "feasl;  of  good  things 
from  the  always  readable  pen  of  the  delightful  purveyors 
of  innocent  juvenile  instruction  and  amusement. "  A 
run  of  this  junk  appears  below: 

1  know  a  little  maid,  her  eyes  are  very  blue 

Her  lips  are  very  red;  but  what  is  that  to  you? 

Her  name  ?  Now,  is  it  Maud  ?  Ah,  no  -  um!  no;  but  well, 

Perhaps  if  I  DID  know,  perhaps  I  would  n't  tell. 


27 


Meritorious    Idiocy 


You  see,  we're  lovers  true,  and  there's  a  saying  —  well 

That  certain,  certain  things  a  swain  musl:  never  tell 

But  swains  may  sing  their  love,  so  sing  I:    "Tra,  la,la" 

1  love  my  pretty  lass,  for  I'm  her  dear  papa. 

The  producers  of  this  style  of  "bland  sweetness" 
are  many,  and  the  sooner  a  damper  is  put  on  these 
candy-coated  sciolisms,  just  that  much  sooner  will  we  be 
freed  from  their  ninnyfied  twattle. 


From  a  painting   of   Anna    Katharine,   german    aculptoresa 
by   j.M.Fitgg,    whom    afterward    became    hie   wife 


28 

THE      MUNDIST 


With  a  feeling  of  deep,  yet  most  singular  friendliness 
I  regarded  Antecletus  L'Arabee  Thrown  into  his 
society  many  years  ago,  my  psychological  suscepti- 
bilities, from  our  first  meeting,  were  strangely  conscious 
of  a  certain  mental  affiliation. 

L*  Arabee's  erudition  was  profound;  his  power  of 
mind  was  gigantic,  while  his  talents  were  potished 
and  hued  to  the  last  point  of  capillary  fineness. 

I  felt  this,  and,  in  many  matters,  became  his  pupil, 
however,  be  all  this  as  it  may;  we  find  Fate  has  littie 
or  no  partiality  for  none.  As  for  myself,  fortune,  in 
so  far  as  worldly  wealth  is  Concerned,  has  favored 
me  to  a  very  great  degree.  Now,  Antecletus 
L*  Arabee  was  very  poor,  but  we  were  thorough 
comrads,  notwithstanding,  and  we  would  spend  hours 
and  hours  in  solveing  some  psychological  problem   as 


The    KundicjT  29 


we  wandered  away  the  dead  stretches  of  long  sum- 
mer nights;  our  walks  were  generally  through  the 
most,  aeserted  parts  ot  the  city,  still,  there  were  times 
when  we  would  spend  an  entire  night  confabbing 
over  our  glasses  in  some  remote  resort. 

"Do  you  know,11  he  said  one  evening,  "It  is  a 
sjrrowiuil  thing  to  ue  poor;  to  be  poor,  and  conscious 
that  poverty  prevents  one  from  occupying  a  position 
in  society  that  with  honor  one  could  till;  to  see 
others  promonading  the  higher  walks  or  lite,  with  no 
other  influence  than  wealth  alone,  makes  the  heart 
sicken,  and  the  spirit  despair.  You  see,"  he  con- 
tinued; "poverty  in  my  case  is  exceedingly  painhil, 
that  is,  painful  to  me,  as  it  hinders  me  from  marrying 
the  maid  of  my  heart  —  Amozoois  Cathliek. " 

1  was  more  than  surprised  upon  hearing  him  speak 
thus,  and  it  was  from  this  period  on,  that  we  grad- 
ually drifted  apart;  through  his  pride,  however,  he 
sturdily  refused  what  ever  financial  aid  1  proffered. 

Time  flew  on,  as  time  has,  and  always  will. 
And  it  was  some  years  after  that  1  was  passing  on 
horse-back  through  the  ancient  and    royal  borough  of 


SO  THE    MUNDIST 

Stirling.  It  was  a  beautiful  and  bright  sunny  day; 
when  nature  seems  to  burst  forth  with  new  enthusiasm 
and  condescends  to  commingle  with  the  commonplace. 
On  the  right,  the  Ochil  mountains  rear  their  heads 
into  purple  heights  of  haze,  while  to  the  left  ranged 
the  Cheviots.  In  the  center  of  the  scene  gleamed 
the  serpentine  windings  of  the  Forth,  and  above  all 
on  its  mountain  summit  rose  the  castle  of  Stirling, 

"Like   some   old   veteran   grey   in   arms 
And  rough   with  many   a   seamy   scar" 

All  that  came  to  view  was  a  semblance  of  peace 
and  beauty;  not  a  sound  fell  upon  the  ear  but  of 
melody  and  bliss. 

As  1  entered  the  principal  street,  all  was  solemn 
silence,  no  bustle  nor  turmoil  of  the  natural  attendants 
of  society  were  to  be  seen  or  heard  —  it  seemed 
as  though  the  angel  of  pestilence  had  suddenly  cast 
his  mantle  over  the  earth.  The  daily  routine  of  every- 
day life  was  quite  forgotten  —  in  a  broad  central 
highway  groups  of  citizens  stood  in  gaping  wonder, 
upon  every  countenance  was  an  expression  of  fear 
and  if  they  moved,  it  seemed  as  though  they  were 
heavily  depressed  by  some  ungodly  terror. 


The   Munoist  31 

l  was  amazed,  and  a  melancholy  gloom  pervaded 
my  spirit;  a  sense  of  insufferable  ennui  slowly  spread 
over  my  soul.  I  say  insufferable;  for  the  feeling 
was  unrelieved  by  any  of  that  half-pleasurable  sen- 
timent, with  which  the  mind  usually  receives  even 
the  sternest  images  of  the  desolate  or  terrible. 

I  looked  upon  the  scene  before  me  with  an  utter 
depression  which  I  can  compare  to  no  earthly  sen- 
sation more  properly  than  to  the  feelings  of  one  that 

walks  a  lonesome  road  under  a  strain  of  self  imposed 
horror. 

There  was  an  iciness,  a  sinking  and  sickening  of 
the  heart  —  an  unredeemed  dreariness  of  thought 
which  no  goading  of  the  imagination  could  torture 
into  aught  of  the  sublime;  for  the  life  of  me,  could 
I  thoroughly  account  for  certain  peculiar  misgivings  and 
with  great  reluctance  —  rode  forward. 

Juft  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  stood  a  black 
solitary  scaffold;  while  from  a  huge  transverse  beam 
hung  two  ropes  with  prepared  nooses;  hanging  in 
wait  for  their  unhappy  victims.  I  dismounted  and 
Stood  almost  breathless;  cold  drops  gathered  upon  my 


32  THE     MUNDIST 


brow.  A  deep  heavy  stroke  of  a  bell  broke  dis- 
mally upon  the  air;  I  stood  in  sightless  study  for  a 
moment,  when  again  the  gigantic  tone  rolled  forth, 
my  heart  beat  in  a  most  peculiar  manner;  suddenly,  a 
fierce  blast  of  a  bugle  brought  me  to  my  senses;  an 
universal  murmuring  was  running  through  the  crowd, 
then     all  was  quiet. 

Came  the  sound  of  clattering  horses'  hoofs,  and  down 
a  narrow  tree-shaded  street,  proceeded  a  line  of 
cavalry    with   drawn  sabres  glittering  in  the  sunshine. 

The  crowd  mechanically  gave  way  —  -  the  voice  of 
the  commanding  officer  rose  in  rough  and  imperative 
tones.  Above  this  shrine  of  Moloch,  loomed  a  dark 
and  gloomy  building;  in  its  front  was  the  dial  of  a 
clock;  it  was  running  close  unto  three. 

A  voice  behind  me  exclaimed  in  a  whisper  —  "I 
hear  them    coming,   I    know;    I've  been  hear  before" 

"Who,  coming?"    I  ejaculated  in  an  unnatural  tone. 

"The  Mundists,  sir;  the  Mundist  martyrs"  replied 
the  same  voice.  I  turned  ---  he  was  an  old  man, 
his  head  was  uncovered  and  his  hair  floated  like 
silver  in  the  sun. 


THE     MUNDI3T  331 

A  low  and  distant  sound  was  heard,  yet,  a  sound 
that  was  harsh  and  grating  on  the  ear.  The  crowd 
heaved  like  the  swell  01  an  ocean  and  a  groan  of 
horror  bursl  from  every  quarter;  -—  the  next  moment 
the  car  of  death  and  justice  rolled  into  view.  There 
were  two  prisoners,  each  sitting  stolidly  and  erect  as 
they  rode.  Two  coffins  were  improvised  into  seats,  and 
the  prisoners  were  bare  necked  ready  for  the  execution. 

In  front  sat  the  executioner,  robed  in  a  loose  black 
gown  and  was  a  figure  hideous  to  the  eyes  of  all,  on 
his  head  he  wore  a  black  cowl,  and  over  his  face  he 
were  a  mask  of  the  same  color. 

1  What  are  these  Mundists,  and  of  what  are  they 
guilty?"     said  1,    to   the  elderly  gentleman. 

"Ah,  they  are  the  poor  fools  that  think  all  men  are 
equally  capable  in  all  things  and  that  men  of  ef- 
ficiency should  be  doomed  to  spend  their  days  in 
close  association  with  the  scum  of  the  earth;  they 
corrupt  the  word  mundane,  and  are  a  rascally  bunch 
of  agitating  socia " 

At  this  juncture  the  prisoners  stepped  out  upon 
the  scaffold,  my  old  friend  Antecletus  i/Arabee  was 
one  of  them. 


14 


THE      COPPER      BOX 

It  may  not  occur  to  you  that  1  am  a  dead  man; 
am,  and  have  been  for  many  years.  Ofcourse,  at 
the  time  of  this  writing  1  was  quite  alive;    but  why 

linger  over  the  vaporous  detail  of  the  hazy  past;  my 
body  has  long  since  returned  to  its  original  ashes, 
while  my  soul,  may,  at  this  very  moment,  be  stand- 
ing at  your  side. 

Perhaps  you  would  be  pleased  to  know  that  this 
is  indited  in  a  dank  and  musty  tomb,  that  crumbles 
on  the  hill  of  Sere,  and  lies  in  the  center  of  the 
cemetery   Pere  La  Chase. 


On  the  entry  of  the  opposing  forces  into  Paris' 
a  beautiful  young  lady  arrived  at  the  Hotel  Delorme 
she  was  without  any  attendant  —  could  scarcely  speak 


33  THE     COPPER     BOX 

a  word  of  French,  and  appeared  to  be  suffering 
with  a  severe  attack  of  mental  agitation.  From  her 
singular  appearance  and  being  alone,  some  delicacy 
was  felt  in  receiving  her. 

It  was  later  learned  that  she  was  in  Paris  in  an 
effort  to  locate  her  betrothed,  who  was  a  young 
officer  of  some  renown;  but  from  whom  she  received 
no  tidings  since  the  beginning  of  the  war.  She 
fell  in  with  an  elderly  lady,  who  listened  with  kind- 
ness to  her  Story  and  promised  her  every  assistance 
within  her  power;  and  the  two  of  them  concentrated 
every  possible  effort  to  gather  in  whatever  clue  theie 
was,  that  had  any  bearing  upon  the  missing  young 
man. 

On  the  morning  following  one  of  their  late  hour 
chats,  and  as  early  as  decorum  would  permit,  the 
couple  accordingly  sallied  forth.  Those  who  have 
never  beheld  a  great  city  in  the  hands  of  a  triumphant 
enemy,  can  conjecture  nothing  so  singularly  exciting 
and  picturesque;  never  was  the  strength  and  brilliancy 
of  war  more  gorgeously  displayed  than  when  the 
Parisian  capital  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Teutons. 


The   Copper   Box  36 

Warriors  of  every  nation  were  assembled  there,  the 
bold  and  ferocious  cossack,  the  hardy  Russian,  the 
warlike  Austrian,  the  dreamy  Italian,  the  crass  ignor- 
ant German,  in  facl,  subjects  of  all  nations  were 
promiscuously  scattered  through  out  the  city,  guarding 
with  lynx-eyed  vigilance  left  the  ever  ftragetic  French 
might  disavow  there  abdication,  and  by  some  sudden 
ruse,  again  bid  deiiance  to  their  conquerors. 

The  two  females  passed  through  crowds  of  men 
of  every  type  and  discription,  suddenly  the  young 
lady  caught  sight  of  a  young  soldier  of  the  12th  Hussars 

1  Ah!"  she  exclaimed  —  "1  muft  see  him,  he  will 
tell  me,  I'm  sure  he  knows."  and  she  Stumbled  for- 
ward into  his  arms. 

The  soldier's  head  sunk  upon  his  breaft  and  he 
pressed  his  hand  nervously      to  his  brow. 

"It  was  ou  the  field  of  Mount  St.  Jean,aud  — " 

'Tknow!   Iknow!*'  she  exclaimed,  at  the  same 

moment  a    wild    and    piercing     laugh    burst     from 

her  bosom  and  she  turned  and  fled;  fled  from  them 

never  to  return. 

it  was  but  three  days    later  to  this   occurrence 


37  The    Copper    Box 

that  I  returned  from  the  front,  and  by  some  peculiar 
freak  of  chance  I  met  the  young  soldier  of  the  12th 
almost  immediatly.  He  informed  me  in  a  very  few 
words  that  my  beloved  Theda  was  in  a  very  pre- 
carious condition,  and  may  at  any  moment  become  a 
mother.  However,  1  finally  located  her  at  the  Hotel 
Fabre  1  then  learned  that  she  had  passed  away;  1 
was  greaily  dazed.  Reluctantly,  and  with  a  heart 
full  of  sorrow  I  approached  the  bed-chamber  of  the 
departed;  the  room  was  large,  and  very  dark,  and  at 
every  step  within  its  gloomy  precincts  I  encountered 
the  paraphernalia  of  the  grave.  The  coffin,  so  a  menial 
told  me,  lay  surrounded  by  the  purple  curtains  just 
before  my  eyes,  and  in  that  coffin,  he  whisperingly 
assured  me,  was  all  that  remained  of  the  fair  Theda. 

Who  was  it  that  asked  if  1  desired  to  view  the 
corpse?  1  had  seen  the  lips  of  no  one  move,  yet 
the  question  had  been  demanded,  and  the  syllables 
still  lingered  in  the  room.  It  was  impossible  to  refuse 
and  with  a  sense  of  suffocation  1  dragged  myself  to 
the  side  of  the  bed.  Gently  I  uplifted  the  sable 
draperies    of    the    curtains;    as  1  let    them   fall   they 


THE    COPPER    BOX  »8 

decended  upon  my  shoulders,  and  shutting  me  thus 
out  from  the  living,  enclosed  me  in  the  strictest  com- 
munion with  the  dead.  The  very  atmosphere  was 
redolent  of  death;  the  peculiar  smell  of  the  coffin 
sickened  me,  and  I  fancied  that  a  deleterious  odor 
was  already  exhaling  from  the  body. 

1  would  have  given  worlds  to  escape  —  to  fly 
from  the  pernicious  influence  of  mortality,  and  breathe 
once  again  the  pure  air  of  the  heavens;  but  1  did  not 
have  the  power  to  move,  and  there  1  stood,  gazing 
upon  the  frightful  length  of  the  rigid  body  as  it  lay 
before  me  in  the  dark,  lidless  coffin.  Did  my  brain 
reel?  or  had  she  really  turned    her  eyes  toward  me! 

1  did  not  remain  to  ascertain  the  authenticity  of  my 
suspicions,  but  sprang  convulsively  from  her  side,  and, 
uttering  no  word,  rushed  forth  a  maniac  from  that 
apartment  of  triple  horror,  mystery  and  death. 

Long  years  have  since  rolled  away,  and  in  the  tomb 
of  my  beloved  deceased  I  have  spent  the  greater  part 
of  my  time.  The  false  report  of  my  death  at  St.  Jean 
was  disasterous.  And  now,  these  pages  I  will  careful- 
ly fold,  and  gently;  oh,  so  gently  place  them  beneath 
the  lid  and  among  the  ashes  of  the  blessed  Theda  where 
they  still  repose    quietly  in  a  gruesome  copper  box. 


91 


UNEARTHLY   CLAY 


ihere  was  never  a  woman  more  lovely  than 
Estell.  And  1  can  swear  to  this  upon  my  soul.  Kings 
had  bent  their  knee  before  the  shrine  of  her  smiles 
and  men  of  every  description  were  her  willing  atten- 
dants. 

As  for  myself;  I  am  a  sculptor  of  great  renown, 
and  it  may  be  needless  to  add  that  my  joy  knew 
no  bounds  as  my  wedding  with  this  heavenly  goddess 
drew  near. 

Her  father,  who  had  just  died,  was  much  averse 
to  our  intention,  and  his  last  words  were  in  the  shape 
of  a  curse,  which  he  endeavored  to  bring  down 
upon  our  heads;  his  death,  however, was  the  close  to 
all  objections  and  the    night  set  for  our  marriage  was 


UIE&BIHLT   OLAT  40 

scheduled  to  be  a  very  popular  affair.  This  event 
was  soon  at  hand;  the  gorgeous  apartments  of  the 
beautiful  Estell  were  thrown  open  to  the  many  guests. 

The  princely;  the  noble;  the  talented  and  the  beau- 
tiful; painters,  sculptor,  and  men  of  all  rank  were 
present;  for  invitations  were  circulated  far  and  wide. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  more  favored  guests  arrived 
guests  that  were  related  to  my  bride  or  myself. 

Though  the  lady  of  my  heart  professed  to  be 
extremely  happy,  I  could  easily  see  that  faint  un- 
easiness with  which  all  women  experience  on  approach- 
ing the  altar. 

A  rumor  was  afloat  that  steps  were  being 
taken  to  interrupt  the  ceremony,  therefore,  we 
had  four  gentlemen  stand  with  naked  swords.  At 
the  cardinal  began  the  service,  Estell  and  1  were 
kneeling  at  his  feet,  and  just  as  1  was  about  to 
place  the  ring  upon  her  finger,  a  glittering  stiletto 
grasped  by  a  naked  arm,  descended  from  one  of 
the  crowd  into  the  bosom  of  my  bride.  She  gave 
a  wild  shriek  and  fell  into  my  arms.      So  instant- 


41  UNEARTHLY   CLAY 

aneous  was  the  blow  with  the  appearance  of  the 
arm  that  there  was  no  time  to  either  defend  or 
protect  her.  But  ere  the  hand  was  withdrawn, 
it  was  cleft  at  the  wrist  by  a  man  on  guard. 

The  assassin,  in  the  commotion,  had  instantly  fal- 
len back  and  hid  amid  the  throng.  The  loss  of  his 
hand  had,  to  some  degree,  aided  him  to  escape, as 
the  fall  of  the  hand  had  monopolized  the  immediate 
attention  of  the  company. 

"No  need  to  worry"  said  the  house  officer  with 
the  broad  mustache  and  nanow  mind,  "the  loss  of 
his  hand  is  his  undoing,  he  can  never  escape." 

The  excitement  became  intense  !  Every  man  looked 
upon  his  neighbor  with  horror  and  suspicion,  and  all 
terrified  to  know  that  an  assassin    was  among  them. 

"As  I  live  !"  broke  in  the  man  who  had  severed 
it;  "  'tis  a  woman's"  and  he  held  up  to  view 
a  very   exquisitely  formed  hand,  the  drops  of  crimson 

0 

gore  that  had,  in  some  manner  stained  its  back,  brought 
out  a  most  beautiful  contrast  in  color;  the  fingers  were 
singularly  symmetrical,  and  on  one  of  them  was  a 
ring  of  peculiar  setting. 


UNEARTHLY    CLAY  42 

"This  ring,*'  exclaimed  the  dunderheaded  detective 
"will  enable  me  to  bring  the  villian  to  justice,  calm 
yourselves  folks,  1*11  land  the  wretch  sooner  or  later 
and  don't  you  forget  it.** 

For  the  moment  my  brain  reeled  and  clasping 
the  corpse  of  my  dreams  into  my  arms,  fled  wildly 
into  an  ajoining  room.  The  murderer  was  no  where 
to  be  found  in  the  chapel;  no  traces  of  blood  wer  e 
visible  in  any  of  the  apartments,  and  the  whole  ter- 
rible affair  remained  wrapped  in  mystery. 

The  hand  that  had  been  cast  upon  the  alter  for 
public  recognition,  was  given  to  me  and  I  carefully 
placed  it  within  my  pocket;  I  kissed  the  fair  Estell 
a  last  farewell  and  with  a  heart  bowed  with  sorrow 
departed  from  the  scene. 

There  was  no  need  of  my  remainig  in  the  city  longer 
and  I  forthwith  departed  for  Paris.  The  extraordinary 
affair  seemed  to  be  a  marvelous  circumstance  and 
was  the  momentary  sensation  throughout  the  entire 
country.  But  at  length,  though  still  remaining  a 
mystery,  the  public  interest  subsided,  and  in  a  few 
weeks  all  comment  had  died  away;  for,  startling  events 


4-x  Unearthly    Olay 

follow  upon  the  steps  of  each  other  too  frequently 
and  men  have  too  much  of  their  own  concerns  to  re- 
gard, to  suffer  any  one  particular  subject  to  long 
engage  their  minds. 

One  night  toward  the  small  hours  of  morning,  I 
was  slightly  startled  by  a  light  tapping  upon  the 
door;  1  had  not  yet  retired  and  was  lounging  dream- 
ily in  my  studio  over  a  mug  of  rum;  as  1  turned 
my  head  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  the  dcor 
slowly  opened  and  a  tall  middle-aged  man  entered 
snugly  enveloped  in  a  heavy  grey  cloak.  On  his 
head  was  a  low  cap,  much  in  the  manner  of  a 
priest's;  he  entered  and  closed  the  door 
behind    him. 

There  was  something  in  the  air  of  this  person 
that  instantly  impressed  me  with  awe;  and  rising,  1 
awaited  his  wants;  he  walked  very  near  and  motioned 
me  to  be  re-seated,  1  obeyed  in  silence;  his 
eyes  seemed  to  arrest  mine  like  a  basilisk's,  his  brow 
was  broad  and  intellectual,  his  face  was  very  firm 
and  commanding,  while  his  eyes  were  brilliant  and 
inconceivably  penetrating. 


Unearthly    Olay  *$ 

"You  are  the  sculptor  1  presume"  said  he,  in  a  deep 
musical  voice;  and  1  nervously  nodded  in  the  affirm  - 
itive. 

"  I  need  the  aid  of  your  art,  and  my  wishes  muit 
be  complied  with;  we  will  depart  at  once." 

1  dropped  my  gaze  to  the  floor  and  contemplated  the 
proposition  for  some  time,  and  at  length,  for  some 
unaccou table  reason  complied.  1  felt  like  one  under 
a  severe  spell  of  mesmerism,  and  a  few  moments  later 
found  us  hurrying  along  the  Rue  de  Neau,  and  turning 
suddenly  into  a  dimly  lighted  cul  de  sac  we  stepped 
into  the  majestic  entrance  of  some  magnificent  dwel- 
ling. It  was  dark,  save  where  the  moonlight 
streamed  through  the  tall  narrow  windows,  and  after 
passing  through  several  long  halls  of  princely  grandeur 
he  led  me  into  a    small  but  elegant  chamber. 

"Is  he  with  you,  signor?°  cried  a  young  female 

of  exquisite  beauty,  rising  from  an  ottoman  rather 
impatiently. 

"He  has  obeyed  me  to  the  letter '*  he  said 
"and  will  be  at  your  exclusive  service  for  the 
remainder  of  the  night.  *'  he  turned  to  me  with  an 


45  Unearthly    Olay 

expression  of  command  and  motioned  me  to  step 
forward;  in  confronting  her,  1  became  conscious  that 
1  knew  her  well;  she  was  about  twenty-two,  and, 
with  a  faultless  face  and  figure,  her  features  were 
characterized  by  the  finest  expression  of  Italian  beauty. 

As  1  say,  1  knew  her  well,  for  she  was  the  model 
and  cast-off  mistress  of  my  stay  in  Rome;  yet,  neither 
of  us    gave  any  sign    of  recognition. 

n  Prepare  your  tools  and  clay,  and  take  your  station 
by  the  Iady'6  couch!"  commanded  the  mesmerist; 
(for  such  he  was)  1  complied,  overwhelmed  with 
wonder  and  growing  curiosity;  one  of  her  arms  was 
bared  half  up,  displaying  a  contour  of  matchless  beauty. 

She  smiled  in  a  most  melancholy  manner  as  1 
approached;  when,  to  my  great  surprise,  she  disrobed 
her  right  arm,  the  hand  was  gone  !  Instantly  the  fate  of 
my  lady  Estell  flashed  before  me,  but  by  neither  look 
nor  deed,  did  1  give  vent  to  my  feelings. 

The  mesmer,  in  full  faith  of  his  insanity,  endeavored 
to  convert  the  hand  of  clay,  which  I  modeled,  into  a 
living  member;  he  bent  low  over  the  female,  and 
with  his  uncanny  power  soon  had  her  into  a  deep  and 
lasting  sleep.  The  opportunity  for  revenge  was  superb, 
I  had  my  dirk  pinning  them  in  death  with  but  a  single 
stroke,  and  they  are  still  lying,  no  doubt;  face  face,  moul- 
dering, moment  by  moment  into  a  mass  of  unearthly  clay. 


46 


THE  CASE  OF  JAMES  GAFFEEN 


Philosophy  is  but  an  artistic  arrangement  of  con- 
soling thoughts,  yet,  all  things  are  phased  to  some 
extent  by  its  compelling  persistency. 

What  ever  were  the  philosophic  powers  of  James 
Gaffeen  is  a  matter  of  little  or  no  moment,  nor  was 
his  religion  to  be  found  either  here  nor  there,  but 
his  was  a  fate  that  amused  me  to  a  very  deep  degree 
and  1  have  often  whiled  the  monotonous  hours  of 
many  nights,  silently  pondering  over  his  peculiar  case. 

Vice  is  always  a  virtue  in  the  estimation  of  its 
possessor;  therefore,  1  can  safely  say,  that  I  have 
been  marvelously  blessed  with  a  turn  of  mind  that 
takes  the  greatest  delight  in  the  weirdest,  and  most 
morbid  melancholia  attainable. 


47  The   Case   Of    James    Gappeen 

Now  the  prison  at  Waxbolm  is  a  dreary  build- 
ing, and  stands  in  a  most  dejected  manner  on  the 
soggy  side  of  an  ancient  hill,  its  classic  out  line 
looming  above  its  immediate  surrounding. 

It  was  at  this  house  of  correction  that,  by  pre- 
tending to  be  an  inmate,  I  managed  to  live  in  close 
communion,  with  the  outlaw,  James  Gaffeen. 

"It  is  a  sad  thing"  said  he,  one  day  "That  a 
man,  even  for  a  moment,  should  be  forcibly  torn 
from  the  side  of  one  whom  he  loves;    just  such  a 

case  is  mine,  I  admit  that  I  have  always  lived 
just  a  little  out  of  the  strict  and  narrow  limits  of 
the  law,  but,  with  all,  1  'm  a  philosopher,  as  well 
as  a  man  of  high  morals.  Listen;"  he  said,  turning 
to  me  with  a  stare  of  assertion  "The  Queen  of 
this  very  country  is  my  affinity;  1  first  met  her  in  the 
woods  at  Narni,  she  had,  through  some  freak  of 
chance,  become  separated  from  her  companions,  and 
not  knowing  at  the  time  that  she  was  the  queen,  1 
rode  roughly  up  to  her  and  dismounted. 

She  regarded  me  in  utter  silence  for  some  time,  but 
at  length,  as  she  was  about  to  whip  up  her  horse  I 
threw  my  arms  about  her  waist  and  lifted  her  to  the 
ground;  much  to  my  surprise,   she  uttered  no  cry  of 


The   Case   of    James   Gaffeen         48 

fear,  but  with  an  impulsive  struggle  released  her- 
self and  stepped  a  pace  away  confronting  me  with 
an  air  of  superiority.  But  knowing  as  I  do,  that 
all  people  are  of  one  standard,  as  far  as  sex  is  con- 
cerned —  1  stepped  forward,  and  crushed  her  to  my 
bosom  with  many  passionate  kisses." 

'Respect  me*  she  cried  *1  am  your  queen!*  and 
drew  herself  up  in  a  most  dignified  manner.  But  a 
man  of  my  character  heeds  no  nI  am  better  than  thouB 
gestures,  nor  any  other  frivolity  of  the  like. 

"The  strangest  part  of  the  whole  affair**  continued 
the  bandit  "lies  in  the  fact  that  she  returned  my  love 
and  agreed  to  meet  me  the  following  day  at  the  same 
time  and  place;  so  the  next  day,  as  1  drew  into  the 
tryst,  1  was  surrounded  by  an  armed  guard  and  placed 
into  this  infernal  prison;  but  why  should  I  care!**  he 
added  in  a  tone  of  self  encouragement  "The  Queen's 
love  is  the  key  to  my  liberty,  and  my  instinctive  faith 
in  her  undying  affection  can  never  be  shattered " 

11  Come  Gaffeen!*1  interupted  the  jailer,  swinging  wide 
the  door  B  The  Queens  will  must  be  done,  and  the 
executioner  awaits  you.*' 


THE    LITERARY    MARTYR 


Antonio  Phrench  was  an  author  of  uncommon 
qualifications;  that  is  to  say;  he  was  an  author 
whose  uncommon  qualification  for  gall  and  un- 
para-elleled  affrontery  was  unsurpassed.  As 
the  editor  of  the  "Argo"  it  befell  me  to  have 
many  dealings  with  this  young  Don  Quixote  of 
the  pen,  and  many,  and  many  a  time  I  was 
tempted  to  throttle  him  without  warning. 

He  would  sit  for  hours  and  chew  at  his  pipe 
like  a  cat  eating  taffy  and  with  inimitable 
persistence  he  would  urge  upon  one  to  both 
read  and  praise  his  latest  abortive  tales.  Be  alt 
this  as  it  may,  for  he  died;  and  is  no  doubt 
fully  dead  in  every  sence  of  the  word.  Upon 
his  death  bed,  however,  he  handed  me  his 
last  will  and  testament,  through  which  I  learned 
that  I  was  his  sole  heir;  and  it  is,  no  doubt, 
needless  to  add  that  ail  his  wealth,  in  its  entirity, 
consisted  of  one  dollar  and  thirty  cents  financially 
and  two  thousand  manuscripts,  disadvantageously. 


THE    LITERARY    MARTYR 

As  for  myself;  I  am  anything  but  extravagant, 
and  it  is  with  some  reluctance  that  I  here  set  his 
masterpiece  "Veiled  circumstances"  into  print. 
IT  FOLLOWS 

Fanned  by  pearl-colored  zephyrs,  Rosa  and 
John  sauntered  along  the  sweet-scented  sward, 
in  the  distance  an  trouty  fisherman  was  plodded 
gayly  homeward. 

"Let  me  tell  you,  John"  said  Rosa,  speak- 
ing very  earnestly;  "  let  me  tell  of  the  kind  of 
love  that  1  fancy.  I  fancy  a  love  made  up  of 
Strength  and  muscle,  with  soul  and  brawn  stirred 
in;  a  love  vibrant  with  cyclons*  volcanos,  earth- 
quakes, pile  drivers  and  switch  engines;  a  love 
that  can  kill  an  oak  tree  with  but  a  single  em- 
brace; a  love  that  can  drink  boiling  lava  as 
though  it  were  the  nectar  of  the  gods;  in  short 
I  muft  have,  and  hold  licentiousness  forever 
and  anon. 

"That  it  my  idea  exactly"  said  John;  "And 
I  demand  a  love  that  could  put  old  Father  Time 
into  the  kindergarden."  They  tried  to  stare  at 
one-another,  but  their  eyes  were  so  full  of  eager- 


so 


THE     LITERARY    MARTYR 

ness  and  local  physical  attraction  they  could  see 
nothing.  The  sky  presented  an  extraordinary 
appearance.  In  some  places  there  were  patches 
of  yellowish  orange,  like  ripe  pumpkins  washed 
by  the  early  morning  dew;  and  then,  anon,  one 
could  see  areas  of  greenish  blues,  blackish  whites 
and  all  around  the  burning  moon- light  was 
reca lei tran ting  violently  from  the  immediate  sur- 
rounding. 

Great  flashes  of  refracted  sun-rays  sifted  thru* 
the  damp  breath  of  a  tired  rhinoceros.  The 
universal  harmony  slim  dated  the  aggravation  of 
the  cockchafer  and  a  bunch  of  flimsy  clouds 
puddled  around  in  the  sky  as  nature  intended 
they  should  do.  Onn  does  not  often  behold 
an  evening  of  such  gorgeous  and  abnormal 
beautincation;  upon  this  specific  occasion  mother 
nature  was  no  slob,  Mother  iNature  on  this 
night  was  patterning  a  la  Francaise  and  her 
beaux  yeux    glittered   salaciously     a   loatrance. 

It  was  beyond  all  doubt,  a  night  of  glory,  to 
be  concise,  I  may  say,  without  fear  of  contra- 
diction that  it  was  a  glorious  night;  in  a  word, 


51 


THE  LITERARY  MARTYR 

the  night  was  glorious.  As  they  turned  into  an 
open  culdesac  they  met  the  girl's  father.  "Ah 
there  /  you  old  Stiff"  says  John  "  Your  refusal  to 
grant  our  marriage  is  a  joke,  I  know  —  ha!  ha!  ha! 
how  very  pleasant  you  are  at  times." 

"Ho!  ho!  ho/"    said  he,     "curse you!  yes!" 
"1  kneu>  you  would  come  to  time;  now  listen 
old  scout,  just  when  do  you  think  it  had  better 


come  o 
I 


ff?" 


Come  off,  you  scoundrel !  what  do  you  mean 
by  that?  better  wait  till  it  goes  on." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  --he,  he,  he!  that's  good  too" 
said  John  "oh,  that's  capital  —  such  a  wit !  but 
all  we  want  just  now,  is  your  consent  and 
blessing,  also"  he  continued  "we  would  like  you 
to  set  the  date,    and  stipulate  it  precisely." 

Here  the  old  man,  first  opened  his  eyes  and 
then  his  mouth  to  quite  a  remarkable  extent, 
*nd  in  this  condition  he  remained,  (ever  anon 
pressing  his  hand  to  his  fore-head)  until  John 
had  finished  with  his  palaver.  Then  the  old 
man  gazed  helplessly  heavenward,  staggered  a- 
bput  almost  lifelessly,  and --- expired.  Not- 
withstanding,    however,     I  can  safely  say  that 


THE    LITERARY     MARTYR 

it  was  a  glorious  night.  The  couple  turned 
into  the  n  Dew  drop  Inn "  for  refreshments  and 
to  inquire  into  the  condition  of  the  weather, 
not  so  much  that  they  had  anything  in  common 
with  the  atmospheric  phenomena  prevalent,  but 
simply  from  the  fact  that  the  weather  is,  was, 
and  always  will  be  the  principal  topic  of  all 
time.  John  stepped  quickly  up  to  the  side  of 
the  restaurateur  and  whispered  much  in  the 
manner  of  one  about  to  commit  murder. 

"How's  the  weather?" 
The  question  was  a  deep  one,  and  the  restaurateur 
was  utterly  transfixed  upon  the  spot. 

"The  weather?"  asked  the  proprietor,  as  he 
pondered  upon  the  profundity  of  the  subject, 
"It  is  the  weather  of  which    you  ask  P" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  Very  well;  the  weather  is,  beyond  all  doubt 
in  a   most  lovely  con 

"No  sir"  snapt  John,  with  an  air  of  injured 
innocence.  And  again  applied  his  stupendous 
query  to  the  bewildered  proprietor. 

52 


THE     LITERARY    MARTYR 

"How's  the  weather?" 

"The  weather,"  smarted  the  restaurateur 
gazing  helplessly  about,      "is  undoubtedly"  

"No  sir!" 

"Indubitably"  — - 

"No  sir  |M 

"Indisputably"  — 

"No  sir!" 

"Evidently"  — 

"  No  sir " 

"Incontrovertibly"  — 

"No  sir!" 

"For  God's  sake,   shut  up!" 

"  No  sir,  the  weather  is  no  such  thing! "  The 
weather  is  simply  glorious,  glorious! /" 

The  sudden  enlightment  was  too  much  for  the 
rheumy  vitativeness  of  the  teutonic  restarateur, 
who  leaped  into  the  air  with  all  the  characteristics 
of  the  blubbery  german,  and  splattered  himself 

53 


THE    LITERARY    MARTYR 

in  a  gigantic  mass  of  sanies  upon  the  floor.  A 
wise  little  frenchman  seeing  that  the  carcass  was 
oozing  with  racial  and  anatomical  grease,  began 
to  spread  ashes  about  to  prevent  the  fallen 
square-head  from  sliding  out  the  front  door;  all 
this  time,  John  stood  spitting  refledtivly  upon  the 
bar.  An  irish  inebriate  who  had  studied  med- 
icine through  the  advertising  pages  of  Puck  pro- 
nounced the  dutchman  dead] 

Upon  hearing  this,  every  man  in  the  place 
held  his  breath,  except  the  deceased  teuton^ 
and  his  breath  was  so  strong  he  could'nt  hold 
it.  The  noted  pessimist,  Loquacious  Larabee, 
dropped  his  mug  of  ram-gudgeon,  grabbed  up 
the  rusty  stove  shovel,  and  severed  the  corpse* 
head  upon  the  spot. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  as  he  strung  the  cranium 
to  the  doric  chandelier  by  its  mangy  locks  "You 
see  we  have  here  a  perfect  specimen  of  ferreous 
refuse;  now  let  the  artist  of  the  beautiful  step 
a  little  bit  nearer;  Now  gentlemen"  he  con- 
tinued,    "express  yourselves." 

"Divine!"   shouted  the  ladies. (?) 


54 


THE    LITERARY    MARTYR 

"Divine"    said  the  dead  man's  wife,  entranced 
"Divine!"    shouted  a  chorus  of  voices. 

"What's  all  this  you're  trying  to  devine?" 
broke  in  Jack  London,  staggering  into  the  room 
under  a  load  of  rot-gut  and  lifted  manuscripts; 
"Here  men"  he  continued  "To  the  hogs  with 
this  ill-fated  tub  of  swill,  avast!  I  say;  and  do 
as  I  bid,  it  must  needs  be  my  will  and  as  an 
immortal  rough-neck  I  tolerate  nothing,  my  word 
is  gold,    cold  and  bold,  and  it  is  I  that    am 

"Belay  that!"  interrupted  Loquacios  Larabee, 
astonished  not  more  at  the  egotist's  speech  than 
at  the  monitive  manner  of  the  man---  "Belay 
that  1  say,  I  am  the  poet  laureate  of  Bonehed's 
barber  shop'  and  no  bass  varlet  shall  pull  a  fluke 
on  me."  At  this  juncture,  great  cries  of  "bravo" 
echoed  thru'  the  building  in  gutteral  raucity;  thus 
encouraged,  the  pessimistic  poet  laureate  con- 
tinued, "Let  us  all  sluff  a  mug  of  rum"  he  said 
"in  dire  hatred,  to  London  the  literary  lifter."  as 
they  finished,  the  flagitious  fumes,  filose  as  they 
were,  suffocated  the  group,  leaving  a  shade  of 
veiled  circumstances,  hovering  over  all. 

UPON    THIS     MSS.     WAS     THE    ATTACHED     NOTE,      WHICH    READ    '. 


55 


THE    LITERARY    MARTYR 

"Dear  editor  of  the  Argo :-  My  name  is  Mr. 
Antone  Cross,  of  this  I  am  quite  certain,  but  my 
nom  de  plume,  as  you  may  be  elated  to  learn 
is  Antonio  Phrench;  that  I  have  great  savoir  vivre 
you  will  see  at  once.  1  have  been  speaking  the 
english  tongue  for  several  weeks,  and  take  great 
delight  in  teaching  a  natural  born  American, 
the  proper  way  in  which  to  speak  his  hereditary 
tongue.  1  have  often  been  alluded  to  as  the  modern 
Shakespeare,  but  this  is  a  rank  injustice  to  me, 
not  so  much  that  Shakespeare  was  a  fool,  but 
simply  that  I,  myself,  am  his  superior. 

"I  only  know  too  well  that  hooi soil  qui  maly 
pense,  and  1  have  been  blessed  by  Deo,  non  fortuna. 
It  is  absurd  to  contemplate  my  ever  failing  in 
this  life,  even  for  a  moment,  Ceil  a  dire,  au  pis 
aller,  coute  qu  il  coute  \  shall  corner  fame. 

Your  patronizing  superior 


S3 


POETRY 


1  will  not  flatter  the  ignoramus  by  terming 
him  a  fool!  And  what  is  more  difficult 
than  to  address  an  audience  of  dunderheads  and 
brainless  wonders  ?  With  this  explanation,  1  feel 
that  you  will  get  my  drift  at  once,  and  under- 
stand from  the  outset  the  cause  of  my  hesitancy 
in  essaying  the  following. 

If  you  are  criminal  enough  to  associate  the 
word  rhyme  as  a  synonym  to  art  or  poetry,  you 
will,  I  fear,  find  little  of  interest  in  this  paper, 
which  is  all  to  do  with  Poetry,  —  Poetry,  a  word 
which  awakens  in  different  minds,  according  to 
their  several  tastes  and  constitutions,  such  very 
opposite  feelings:  the  obje<5t  of  the  enthusiasm 
of  one  party,  of  indifference  to  another,  almost 
of  contempt  or  reprobation  to  a  third. 

Subject  to  all  this  variety  of  appreciation,  it 
seems  only  a  natural  course,  and  one  suggested 
by  that  partiality  which  every  writer  is  supposed 


POETRY 

to  have  for  the  theme  of  his  own  adoption,  to 
commence  with  a  brief  description  and  vindi- 
cation of  its  character;  and  yet,  upon  reflection, 
such  a  proceeding  may  be  deemed  almost 
superfluous.  By  those  who  are  prepossessed 

in  favor  of  the  subject,  what  recommendation 
will  be  required,  with  those  on  the  contrary 
who  are  prejudiced  against  it,  what  vindication 
will  avail  ?  It  is  in  vain  that  we  appeal  to 
tastes  and  feelings  which  have  no  existence;  it 
is  in  vain  that  we  endeavor  to  altar  the  ingrained 
nature  of  things,  or  expect  them  to  respond  to 
us  in  any  voice  than  their  own,  however  power- 
ful the  hand,  or  cunning  the  touch  to  which 
they  may  be  subjected.  No  skill  in  the  performer 
can  elicit  harmony  from  discordant  strings;  no 
skill  in  the  performer  can  alter  the  quality  of 
the  instrument,  can  call  forth  the  deep  voice  of 
the  violin  cello,  from  the  lute,  or  swell  the  tinkle 
of  the  guitar  into  the  loud  and  lengthened  clangors 
of  the  trumpet  ;  the  most  enchanting  prospect 
is  a  mere  blank  to  the  blind,  and  all  the  melt- 
ing soul  of  harmony    will  plead  in  vain  to  the 


53 


POETRY 

sealed  up  portals  of  the  deaf.  In  like  man- 
ner, it  would  be  idle  to  paint  to  the  imagin- 
ation where  there  is  no  imagination  to  appreciate 
the  pourlraiture,  worse  than  idle  to  address  the 
language  of  feeling  to  that  breast,  which  is  a 
stranger  to  all  the  finer  and  more  generous 
impulses    of  our  nature. 

Rather,  therefore,  in  compliance  with  form,  and 
to  extend  that  protection  to  my  subject  which 
it  has  a  right  to  expect  from  me,  than  with  any 
view  to  reason  the  callous  or  indifferent  into 
taste  and  feeling,  shall  I  briefly  advert  to  its 
claims  and  character.  What  then  is  that  sub- 
ject, what  is  Poetry?  The  word  is  derived 
from  the  Greek  verb  which  signifies  creation  or 
invention ;  and  widely  as  Poetry  has  extended 
its  signification,  it  still  retains  enough  of  its 
primitive  character  to  vindicate  the  correctness 
of    its    derivation. 

Poetry,  indeed,  is  essentially  creative :  in  its 
most  simple  form  as  the  mere  description  of 
external  nature,  it  is  not  a  passive   mirror    idly 


59 


POETRY 

reflecting  objects  placed  before  its  eye;  even 
here,  it  is  an  active  discriminating  and  to  a 
certain  extent,  a  creative  agent.  It  decomposes 
existing  appearances,  reduces  them  to  their  pri- 
mary elements,  and  reconstructs  more  pleasing 
and  effective  combinations  from  the  same :  thus 
creative  in  its  very  origin,  it  developes  the 
faculty  more  fully  as  it  proceeds,  'till  in  its 
loftiest  department  it  carries  invention  to  the  high- 
est possible  pitch,  and  becomes  creative  altogether. 

Here  it  not  only  originates,  but  peoples  a 
region  of  its  own,  it  embodies  passion,  incident 
and  character,  and,  interweaving  the  whole  into 
the  interest  of  connected  narrative,  calls  forth  a 
more  animated,  picturesque,  and  impassioned 
world. 

Poetry  is  inventive  in  the  very  language 
it  employs.  Rejecting  ordinary  forms  of  expres- 
sion, it  is  continually  aspiring  to  more  novel  and 
striking  combinations,  altering  with  this  view 
and  interchanging  the  properties  of  things, 
tincturing  and  enrobing  them  with  the  colors 
and  costume  of  each  other,  and  thus  regaling 
the  imagination  with  a  species  of  brilliant  verbal 


eo 


POETRY 

masquerade.  In  simple  prose,  the  ear  listens, 
but  poetry  tells  you  in  its  own  peculiar  dialed 
that  the  ear  inhales  sweet  sounds,  thus  borrow- 
ing the  property  of  one  sense  and  transferring  it 
to  another.  But  in  these  borrowings  and  trans- 
mutations there  is  truth  and  consistency.  The 
"eye  listens,51  would  be  a  solecism  in  language, 
the  term  being  strictly  confined  to  the  ear;  but 
tho*  the  verb  inhale  has  reference  to  the  breath, 
yet  it  has  truth  and  propriety  as  a  general  term 
for  Recipiency  for  admitting  or  receiving.  But 
in  its  full  amplitude  of  signification,  Poetry  is  a 
comprehensive  term  indeed,  embracing  every 
thing  that  can  interest  or  effect  in  the  wide  reg- 
ion of  Nature  or  of  Art. 

When  we  gaze  on  the  rising  sun  and  feel 
our  energies  renewed  with  the  renewed  existence 
of  the  day,  this  is  Poetry,  the  buoyant  Poetry 
of  hope  and  expectation ;  as  the  day  advances 
and  oppressed  by  the  meridian  heat  we  court 
the  shade,  and  curtained  by  its  verdant  screen, 
abandon  ourselves  to  all  the  luxurious  lassitude 
of  the  noontide  hour,  this  too  is  Poetry;  as  the 

01 


POETRY 


day  declines  and  sympathizing  with  that  declen- 
sion our  spirits  take  a  calmer  hue,  as  if  the 
brighter  colors  of  the  mind  began  to  fade  with 
the  fading  glories  of  the  day,  this  too  is  Poetry; 
when  night  comes  on  with  her  solemn  bend 
and  silent  stars,  and  we  feel  all  the  deep  hushed 
serenity  of  that  celestial  hour,  as  if  our  spirits 
caught  the  tinge  of  that  pale  pure  orb  we  gaze 
upon,  although  our  feelings  differ  as  much  from 
what  they  were  in  the  morning  as  does  the  young 
and  radiant  sun  from  his  pensive  pallid  sister  of 
the  night,  slill  this  is  Poetry. 

The  same  remark  applies  to  the  imitative 
world.  Chained  to  the  chariot  of  triumphal  art 
as  we  gaze  enamoured  of  some  finished  production 
of  the  sculptor,  and  inhale  the  ambrosial  aspecl 
of  a  Venus  or  an  Apollo;  though  statuary  sup- 
plies the  inspiration,  Poetry  is  the  feeling  inspired ; 
when  we  listen  to  harmonious  sounds  and  exper- 
ience those  indescribable  emotions  which  only 
Music  can  elicit  from  the  soul,  this  too  is  Poetry ; 
hence  the  Poetry  of  music;  the  Poetry  of 
Sculpture ;    the  Poetry  of    Painting ;  and  when 


•a 


POETRY 

Pavlowa,  the  Queen  of  Dance,  was  said  to 
exhibit  in  her  performance  the  Poetry  of  Motion, 
taere  was  not  less  philosophical  truth,  than  delicate 
beauty  in  the  compliment.  Thus  Poetry  is  intim- 
ately associated  with  whatever  is  most  pure, 
impassioned  or  imaginative  in  Nature  or  in  Art, 
with  all  that  is  most  elevated  in  character,  most 
exquisite  in  sensation ;  it  raises  the  mind  to  a 
capacily  for  enjoying  whatever  is  exalted  and 
refined ;  it  raises  the  most  ordinary  object  or 
occurrence  into  a  source  of  exalted  and  re- 
fined    enjoyment. 

The  enlivener  and  vivifier  of  existence,  it  is 
continually  enlarging,  as  we  cultivate  it,  the 
sphere  of  our  innocent  enjoyments,  so  that  a  man 
of  polite  imagination  is  let  into  a  great  many 
pleasures  that  the  vuglar  are  not  capable  of 
receiving ;  he  can  converse  with  a  picture  and 
find  an  agreeable  companion  in  a  statue. 

Having  expressed  my  views  upon  this  subject 
I  will,  without  retrospection,  continue  to  travel : 
1  Like  one  who  walks  a  lonesome  road 
Who's  heart   is  full  of  dread, 


ea 


POETRY 


And  having  once  looked   'round,  walks  on 
And  turns  no  more  his  head, 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend, 
Does  close  behind  him  tread." 


M 


AN   ULTIMATE  EXPERIENCE 


The  author  of  "Greedy-Creed"  was  a  marvel, 
and  1  can  safely  say,  that  his  undying  fame 
is  fait  accompli  and,  also,  that  he  and  Karl  Marks 
are  gens  de  meme  famille  when  it  comes  to  jeu 
de  mots. 

When  this  worthy  knight  of  the  inkwell 
firsl  broke  into  print,  it  was,  1  am  sorry  to  say, 
through  the  pages  of  the  "Argo,"  a  paper  of 
which  1  am  editor,  proprietor  and  main  Mogul. 

Since  the  time  his  tale  iirsT:  appeared  in  my 
Journal,  I  have  been  so  terribly  harassed  by 
the  reading  public  that  1  have  been  feeling  most 
uncomfortably  simular  to  the  immortal  hero  in  a 
'Piece  of  siring."  There  is  no  doubt  but  what 
his  article  was  confined  slrictly  to  the  truth,  as   he 

says  in  a  note  attached      " and  as  my  son 

and  1  entered  the  prison  yard  I  was  more  than 
delighted  upon  Stepping  into  the  shadow  of  the 
gallows,  it  was  in  full  preparation  to  receive  some 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

fortunate  (or  unfortunate)  victim  of  the  noose. 
I  am  a  man  that  has  always  made  a  practice  of 
Poll-parroting  ideas  of  others;  still,  it  is  but  nat- 
ural for  a  man  minus  intuition  or  construction  to 
naw  incessantly  upon  dead  thoughts. 

My  opportunity  was  now  at  hand  to  poll-parrot 
the  sensation  of  a  man  who  waltzes  with  death 
at  the  end  of  a  rope;  being  unable  to  delineate 
my  sensations  in  proper  elaboration,  for  I  am  only 
a  cankerous  radical,  and  my  incapabilities  have 
always  kept  me  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Aesop's 
fox  who  sought  the  grapes ;  I  therefore,  will  ex- 
pect your  staff  to  put  my  article  out  comme  il  faul, 
still,  some  years  ago  1  put  a  bunch  of  words  to- 
gether, myself,  and  formed  them  into  long  mockish 
sentences  that  finally  took  on  the  appearance  of 
a  book.  As  I  said,  1  was  elated  to  behold  the 
gallows  and  with  an  encouraging  nudge  from  my 
companion,  1  gave  a  hop,  skip  and  a  jump  vault- 
ing the  scaffold  in  a  jiffy,  then  placing  my  bean 
through  the  enticing  loop  I  dispatched  myself 
upon  the  spot.     As  1  am  absolutely  mechanical 

66 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

and  am  the  possessor  of  about  as  much  free  hand 
grace  that's  noticeable  on  a  steam  shovel,  lwish 
that  you  would  imagine  my  predicament  and 
make  it  into  a  head-line  story  for  your  paper; 
start  off  with:  die,  I  did  not.  Then  suit  your- 
self from  there  on,  and  obliged. 

Sincerily 

Cephalic  Rock. 

(My  compliance  appears  very  obvious  in  the 
sequel) 

Die,  I  did  not.  the  sudden  jerk  given  to  my 
neck  as  1  shot  through  the  drop,  merely  proved 
to  be  a  sensation  of  a  most  pleasing  nature,  and 
but  for  the  chafing  of  the  rope,  the  pressure  of 
the  knot  and  the  rapid  swelling  of  my  optics, 
I  found,  that  hanging  was,  after  all,  an  experience 
not  to  be  forgotten,  and  too,  it  is  a  gift  from  the 
State  to  the  people,  of  the  very  highest  order. 

I  heard  my  heart  beating  with  violence  — 
and  the  veins  in  my  hands  and  wrists  swelled 


(mote  ••  Cephalic  Rock,  is  the  club  name  of  a  noted  radical) 
Otmchwi»€     known     a*     Theodore     Roosevelt. 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPEPIENCE 

nearly  to  bursting,  my  temples  throbbed  temp- 
estuously. Yet  when  I  say  that  in  spite  of  all 
this  my  sensations  were  not  absolutely  intolerable, 
1  will  not  believed. 

There  were  noises  in  my  ears,  first  like  the 
tolling  of  huge  bells  —  then  like  the  beating  of 
a  thousand  drums  —-then,  lastly,  like  the  low, 
sullen  murmurs  of  the  sea.  But  these  noises  were 
far  from  being   disagreeable. 

Although,  the  powers  of  my  mind  were  con- 
fused and  distorted,  yet  1  was  —  strange  to  say! 
—-well  aware  of  such  confusion  and  distortion. 
I  could,  with  unernng  promptitude  determine  at 
will  in  what  particulars  my  sensations  were  cor- 
rect —  and  in  what  particulars  I  wandered  from 

the  path.  I  could  even  feel  with  accuracy  how  far 
—-  to  what  very  point,  such  wanderings  had 
misguided  me,  but  still  without  the  power  of 
correcting  my  deviations.  1  took  besides,  at  the 
same  time,  a  wild  delight  in  analyzing  my  con- 
ceptions. Memory,  which,  of  all  other  faculties, 
should  have  first  taken  its  departure,  seemed  on 
the  contrary  to  have  been  endowed  with  quadru- 


6a 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

pled  power.  Each  incident  of  my  past  life  flitted 
before  me  like  a  shadow.  There  was  not  a 
brick  in  the  building  where  1  was  born  —  not 
a  dogleaf  in  the  primer  1  had  thumbed  over 
when  a  child  —  not  a  tree  in  the  fores!  where 
I  hunted  when  a  youth  ---  not  a  street  in  the 
cities  I  had  traversed  when  a  man,  that  I  did 
not  at  that  time  mosT:  palpably  behold.  I  could 
repeat  to  myself  entire  lines,  passages,  chapters, 
books,  from  the  studies  of  my  earliest  days  ;  and 
while,  I  dare  say,  the  crowd  around  me  were 
blind  with  horror,  or  aghast  with  awe,  1  was 
alternately  with  Aeschylus,  a  demi-god,  or  with 
Aristophanes,  a  frog. 

A  dreamy  delight  suddenly  took  hold  upon 
my  spirit,  and  I  imagined  that  1  was  filled  to  the 
brim  with  dago  red,  and  that  I  had  just  finished 
feeding  upon  the  Hashish  of  the  old  Assassins. 
But  glimpses  of  pure,  unadulterated  reason  were 
still  caught  occasionally  by   my  soul. 

By  some  unusual  pressure  of  the  rope  against 
my  face,  a  portion  of  the  cap  was  shoved  away 
and  I  found  to  my  astonishment  that  my  mental 
powers  were  not  altogether   distroyed. 


69 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

A  sea  of  waving  heads  rolled  around  me. 
In  the  intensity  of  my  delight  1  eyed  them  with 
feelings  of  the  deepest  commiseration,  ane  blessed, 
as  I  looked  upon  the  haggard  assembly,  the 
superior  benignity  of  my  proper    stars. 

I  now  reasoned,  rapidly  I  believe  —  pro- 
foundly 1  am  sure  —  upon  principles  of  common 
law  —  propriety  of  that  law  especially,  for  captial 
punishment,  absurdities  in  political  economy  which 
till  then  1  had  never  been  able  to  acknowledge 
—  dogmas  in  the  old  Aristotelians  now  generally 
denied,  but  not  the  less  intrinsically  true ---de- 
testable school  formulae  in  Bourdon,  in  Gamier, 
in  Lacroix  ---  synonymes  in  L*  Arabe  —  lunar 
lunatic  theories  in  Socialism  ---  logic  in  War 
what  for?  —  profundity  in  War  what  for?  —  genius 
in  War  what  for  ?  everything  in  War  what  for  ? 

Then  came,  like  a  flood,  Coleridge,  Kant  and 
Pantheism  ;  then  like  a  deluge,  came  Academic, 
Pergola,  LaSala,  Ned  in  the  first  reader,  and  Byron. 

Came  a  gigantic  change  in  my  mental  regions; 
a  great  storm,  a  tempest  of  ideas,  vast,  novel, 
and  soul  stirring,  bore  my  spirit  afar  off. 


70 


AN    ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

Confusion  crowded  upon  confusion  like  a 
wave  upon  a  wave.  In  a  very  short  time  Schelling 
himself  would  have  been  satisfied  with  my  entire 
loss  of  self-idenity.  The  crowd  became  a  mass 
of  mere  abstraction. 

About  this  time  1  became  aware  of  a  heavy 
fall  and  shock  —  but,  although  the  concussion 
jarred  through  my  frame,  I  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  its  having  been  sustained  in  my  own  pro- 
per person,  and  thought  of  it  as  an  incident 
peculiar  to  some  other  existence  —  an  idiosyncrasy 
belonging  to  some  other  Ens.  It  was  at  this 
moment  —  as  I  afterwards  discovered  —  that 
having  been  suspended  for  the  full  term  of  exe- 
cution, it  was  thought  proper  to  remove  my  body 
from    the    gallows. 

Much  sympathy  was  now  exercised  in  my  behalf 

—  and  as  no  one  in  the  city  wanted  to  identify 
my  body,  it  was  ordered  that  1  should  be  interred 
in  the  public  sepulchre  on  the  following  morning. 

I  lay,  in  the  meantime,  without  signs  of  life 

—  although  from  the  moment,  I  suppose,  when 
the    rope    was  loosened  from  my   neck,    a  dim 


n 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

consciousness  of  my  situation  oppressed  me  like 
the  nightmare. 

I  was  laid  out  in  a  chamber  sufficiently  small , 
and  very  much  encumbered  with  furniture-  — 
yet,  to  me  it  appeared  of  a  size  to  contain  the 
universe.  I  have  never  before  or  since,  in  body 
or  in  mind,  suffered  half  so  much  agony  as  from 
that  single  idea. 

Strange  !  that  the  simple  conception  of  abstract 
magnitude  —  of  infinity---  should  have  been 
accompanied  with  pain.  Yet  so  it  was.  "  With 
how  vast  a  difference"  said  1,  "in  life  as  in 
death,  in  time  and  in  eternity,  here  and  hereafter, 
shall  our  merest  sensations  beimbodied  !" 

Came  the  night,  and  I  was  aware  that  it  was 
dark,  yet  the  same  terrible  conceit  still  over- 
whelmed me.  It  was  not  confined  to  the 
boundaries  of  the  apartment,  it  extended,  altho' 
in  a  more  definite  manner,  to  all  objects,  and, 
perhaps,  1  will  not  be  understood  in  saying  that 
it  extended  also  to  all  sentiments.  My  fingers 
as,  they  lay  cold,  clammy,  stiff,  and  pressing 
helplessly    one  against    another,    were,     in  my 


72 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

imagination,  swelled  to  a  size,  well  —jenesais 
quoi.  Every  portion  of  my  frame  became  enor- 
mous; the  pieces  of  money,  1  well  remember, 
that  were  placed  upon  my  eyelids,  failed  to 
keep  them  effectually  closed,  and  seemed  huge, 
like  the  chariot -wheels  of  Olympia,  or  Ben  Hur. 

Yet  it  is  very  singular  that  I  experienced  no 
sense  of  weight  —  -  of  gravity.  On  the  contrary 
I  was  put  to  much  inconvenience  by  the  buoyancy 
and  a  tantalizing  difficulty  of  keeping  down, 
which  is  always  felt  by  the  swimmer  in  deep 
water. 

Amid  the  tumult  of  my  terrors  1  laughed 
with  a  heavy  internal  laugh  to  think  what  incon- 
gruity there  would  be  —  could  I  arise  and  walk 
---  between  the  elasticity  of  my  motion,  and  the 
mountain  of  my  form.  Came  the  night  —  and 
with  it  a  new  crowd  of  horrors.  The  consci- 
ousness of  my  approaching  interment,  began  to 
assume  new  distinctness,  and  consistency  —  yet 
never  for  one  moment  did  I  imagine  that  I 
Waz  actually  dead.  "  This  then  "  —  I  mentally 
speculated  —  "  this  darkness    which  is  palpable, 


73 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

and  oppresses  with  a  sense  of  suffocation  — 
this  —  this  —  is  —  indeed  death.  This  is  death 
—  this  is  death  the  terrible  —  death  the  holy. 
This  is  the  death  undergone  by  Regulus,  and 
equally  by  Seneca 

Thus  —  thus,  too,  shall  I  always  remain, 
always,  always  remain.  Reason  is  folly,  and 
Philosophy  a  lie.  No  one  will  know  my  sen- 
sations, my  horror—-  my  despair.  Yet  will  men 
still  persist  in  reasoning,  and  philosophizing,  and 
making  themselves  fools. 

There  is,  1  find,  no  hereafter  but  this.  This, 
this,  this,  is  the  only  Eternity ! -—and  what,  O 
Baalzebub!  —  what  an  Eternity!,  to  lie  in  this 
vast  ,  this  awful  void,  a  hideous,  vague,  and 
unmeaning  anomaly,  motionless,  yet  wishing  for 
motion,  powerless,  yet  longing  for  power,  for- 
ever, forever,  and  forever ! '  But  the  morning 
broke  at  length,  and  with  its  misty  and  gloomy 
dawn  arrived  in  triple  horror  the  paraphernalia 
of  the  grave.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  was  I 
fully  sensible  of  the  fearful  fate  hanging  over 
me.     The  phantasms  of  the  night  had  faded  with 


?4 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

its  shadows,  and  the  actual  terrors  of  the  yawn- 
ing tomb    left    me    no    heart    for    the    bugbear 

speculations  of  Transcendentalism.  I  have  be- 
fore mentioned  that  my  eyes  were  but  imperfectly 
closed  —  yet  1  could  not  move  them  in  any  degree, 
those  objects  alone  which  crossed  the  direct  line 
of  vision  were  within  the  sphere  of  my  com- 
prehension. 

But  across  that  line  of  vision  spectral  and 
stealthy  figures  were  continually  flitting,  like  the 
ghosts  of  Banquo.  They  were  making  hurried 
preparations  for  my  interment. 

First  came  the  coffin  which  they  placed 
quietly  by  my  side.  Then  the  undertaker  with 
attendants  and  a  screw-driver.  Then  a  stout 
man  whom  1  could  distinctly  see  and  who  took 
hold  of  my  feet  —  while  one  whom  I  could  only 
feel    lifted     me    by     the  head     and     shoulders. 

Together  they  placed  me  in  the  coffin,  and 
drawing  the  shroud  up  over  my  face  proceeded 
to  fasten  down  the  lid.  One  of  the  screws, 
missing  its  proper  direction,  was  screwed  by 
the  carelessness  of  the  undertaker  deep  down 
into  my  shoulder,  and  a  convulsive  shudder  ran 


75 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

through-out  my  frame.  With  what  horror,  with 
what  sickening  of  heart  did  I  reflect  that 
one  minute  sooner  a  similar  manifestation  of  life 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  prevented  my 
inhumation.  But  alas !  it  was  now  too  late,  and 
hope  died  away  within  my  bosom  as  I  felt  my- 
self lifted  upon  the  shoulders  of  men  —  carried 
down  the  stair-way  —  and  thrust  within  the  hearse. 

During  the  brief  passage  to  the  cemetery  my 
sensations,  which  for  sometime  had  been  lethargic 

and  dull,  assumed,  all  at  once,  a  degree  of  in- 
tense and  unnatural  vivacity  for  which  I  can  in 
no  manner  account. 

I  could  distinctly  hear  the  rustling  of  the 
plumes  —  the  whispers  of  the  attendants  —  the 
solemn  breathings  of  the  horses  of  death.  Con- 
fused as  1  was  in  that  narrow  and  strict  embrace, 
1  could  feel  the  quicker  or  slower  movement 
of  the  procession  —  the  restlessness  of  the  driver, 
the  windings  of  the  road  as  it  led  us  to  the  right  or 
left.  1  could  distinguish  the  peculiar  odor  of 
the  coffin  —  the  sharp  acid  smell  of  the  steel 
•crews.     1  could  see  the  texture  of  the  shroud 


76 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

as  it  lay  close  against  my  face  ;  and  was  even 
conscious  of  the  rapid  variations  in  light  and 
shade  which  the  flapping  to  and  fro  of  the  sable 
hangings  occasioned  within  the  body  of  the 
vehicle.  In  a  short  time  however,  we  arrived 
at  the  place  of  sepulture,  and  I  felt  myself  de- 
posited within  the  tomb. 

The  entrance  was  secured  ---  they  departed 
—  and  I  was  left  alone.  Sullenly  1  lay  at  length, 
the  quick  among  the  dead,  P^nacharsis  inter  scythas 
From  what  1  overheard  early  in  the  morning,  1 
was  led  to  believe  that  the  occasions  when  the 
vault  was  made  use  of  were  of  very  rare 
occurrence. 

It  was  probable  that  many  months  might  elapse 
before  the  doors  of  the  tomb  would  be  again 
unbarred  —  and  even  should  I  survive  until  that 
period,  what  means  could  I  have  more  than  at 
present,  of  making  known  my  situation  or  of  es- 
caping from  the  coffin?  1  resigned  myself, 
therefore,  with  much  tranquility  to  my  fate,  and 
fell,  after,  many  hours,  into  a  deep  and  death- 
like sleep. 


77 


AN     ULTIMATE     EXPERIENCE 

How  long  I  remained  thus  is  a  mystery.  When 
1  awoke  my  limbs  were  no  longer  cramped  with 
the  cramp  of  death  -  —  1  was  no  longer  without 
the  power  of  motion.  A  very  slight  exertion 
was  sufficient  to  force  the  lid  of  my  prison  ---for 
the  dampness  of  the  atmosphere  had  already  occas- 
ioned decay  in  the  wood-work  around  the  screws. 

My  steps  as  1  groped  around  the  sides  of  my 
habitation  were,  however,  feeble  and  uncertain, 
and  1  felt  all  the  gnawings  of  hunger  with  the 
pains  of  intolerable  thirst.  Yet,  as  time  passed 
away,  it  is  strange  that  I  experienced  little  un- 
easiness from  these  scourges  of  the  earth,  in 
comparison  with  the  more  terrible  visitations  of 
the  fiend   Ennu/. 

Stranger  still  were  the  resources  by  which  I 
endeavor  to  banish  him  irom  my  presence. 
The  sepulchre  was  large  and  subdivided  into 
many  compartments,and  1  busied  myself  in  ex- 
amining all  things  in  the  immediate  surround- 
ing, and  you  can,  no  doubt,  imagine  my  surprise 
when  1  observed  upon  my    coffin  lid  the  words : 

Teddy  Roosevelt 

gone   but    not    for    long 

Being  toujours  pret,   1  left  the  tomb,  more  than 

delighted  with  the  prophesy  thus  inscribed. 

78 


MARCO  POPPERRELLI 


Marco  Popperrelli,  is  the  name  by  which  the 
World  knows  me,  and  in  fine;  by  which  I  know 
myself.  Should  I,  through  lack  of  sufficient  egotism 
forget  my  euphonious  appellation,  1  would,  no 
doubt,  be  at  a  great  loss  in  calling  to  mind,  as 
to  who  1  really  was  ---or  am. 

At  one  time  I  was  a  great  socialist:  (here  1 
blush  with  shame)  but  now  I  am  an  anti-socialift. 
(1  blush  again)  But  I  want  to  say  right  now;  that 
both  Anties  and  Sociasi&s  should  be  properly 
secured  in  Davy  Jones'  locker. 

During  the  days  that  I  was  such  a  great  sociaist 
I  was  asked  many  questions,  none  of  which  1 
could  answer.  Like  all  dunderheads  of  the  ism, 
I  contended  that  if  any  man  was  given  oppor- 
tunity he  would  prove  himself  as  competent  as 
his  more  prosperous  brother.  But  !  1  never  thought 
then,  of  the  thousands  that  cast  the  greatest  of 
opportunities  aside,  to  give  reign  to  their  true 
psychological  characters.  Any  man  that  wishes 
to  go  down,  can;  likewise,  any  man  wishing  to 
better  himself  can  easily  do  so,  unless  his  will  is 


79 


Marco    Popperrelli 

ungodly  feeble;  then,  of  course,  he  at  once  be- 
comes a  socialist  thru'  his  shortcomings.  It  is 
needless  to  add  that  Socialism  is  a  school  brought 
about  by  envious  incapables,  therefore  I  will 
get  to  my  slory  at  once. 

Every  man  in  the  world  knows  Jim  Rolph 
the  immortal  Mayor  of  Frisco.  "Listen  Marco" 
said  he  one  day,  "  see  that  plug-ugly  with  the  mess 
of  whiskers  on  his  mug,  the  shabb-nasly  there 
with  the  wooden  head"? 

"Yes,  yes" 

"That's  Schmidtz"  said  the  Mayor  "He  is 
the  one  that  is  running  on  your  ticket." 

At  this  juncture,  the  Mayor  lit  a  fifty  cent 
cigar,  gave  me  the  butt  of  the  old  one  and  hurried 
away.  1  was  determined  to  learn  more  of 
Schmidtz  (for  I  was  a  olridl  socialist,  then)  and 
I  did.  He  would  come  up  and  say  "Who's 
the  next  Mayor?"  and  then  he'd  duck  as  tho* 
some  body  was  going  to  hit  him.  "  Philosophizing? " 
he'd  say,  and  make  a  face  like  a  sick  baby. 
"Ought'nt  to  philosophize  on  Sunday"  ---  then 
he'd    screw    up  his    mug  to    look    shocked  — 


80 


Marco   popperrelli 

"awfully  wicked!"  and  then  he'd  twist  down 
the  right  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  try  to  wink 
with  his  left  eye.  He  could  never  speak  with- 
out pulling  a  facial  stunt  of  some  sort,  in  short,he 
had  a  face  like  a  distempered  cat. 

He  was  pulling  all  sorts  of  palaver  one  after- 
noon, when  Jim  Rolph  £lepped  into  our  midst 
At  this  time  Schmidtz  did'nt  even  know  Rolph 
when  he  saw  him. 

"Yes"  said  Schmidtz  "I  see  Rolph  wants  to 
run  again,  and " 

"Hello!"    says  Rolph,  breaking  in   "epilepsy!" 

"Eh?"     murmured     Schmidtz. 

"Epilepsy,"    says  Rolph,    "you've  got  it" 

"  Nonsense"  snapped  Schmidtz,  turning  a  trifle 
pale;      "1-have'nt  a  particle  of  it  in  my  system." 

"Oh,"  says  the  other,  "beg  pardon.  Thot  1 
recognized  the  characteristic  twist  of  the  mouth; 
Used  to  be  in  the  medical  profession  myself, 
and  I  take  an  interest  in  such  matters.  My  mis- 
take. Go  ahead" 

Schmidtz  was  slightly  disconcerted  but  screwed 
his  face  around  in  a  renewed  effort. 

"Hold  on!"  broke  in  Rolph,    "1  was  wrong. 


si 


Marco   Porperrelli 

St.  Vitus  Dance,    or  I'm  a  hood" 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?"  asked  Schmidtz, 
trying  to  appear  indignant. 

"Mean  ?"  he  exclaimed,  "I  mean  that  you 
had  better  consult  a  Doctor  at  your  very  earliest 
convenience,  the  St.  Vitus  Dance  has  a  tremend- 
ous grip  upon  you,  and  you  should  see  a  Specialist 
at  once.'* 

Poor  Schmidtz,  he  stumbled  out,  and  sought 
surcease  in  the  slums.  Most  of  his  followers  be- 
ing leaderless,  strayed  listlessly  about  —  their  feet 
taking  hold  of  various  paths  that  lead  to  destruc- 
tion and  dispair.  As  for  myself;  well,  —  I 
started  The  Intenational  Union  of  the  World,  and 
thus,  have  managed  to  put  every  man  in  his 
place,  at  the  same  time,  rendering  him  a  full 
compensation  for  his    worth. 

Moral :  (Practical  organization  will  equal 
ize  everything. 


'•-<&,      s%^!  -*^7.  ~& 


^m^v&Yutf'Mfffl" 


THE  GENIUS 

Da  fort  victime  in  fortunee 
Par  tous  pays  Je  suis  errant, 
Est  rhorreur  de  ma  destinee, 
Semble  s*  accroitre  a  chaque  instant: 
Pauvre  Emigrant,  pauvre  Emigrant. 

My  name,—  if  ever  I  had  one  —  is  a  beauty; 
and  the  whole  world  tingles  with  pride  upon 
its  utterance.  That  1  am  none  other  than  Jazz 
Merrazz,  is  not  necessary,   I  imagine,  to  mention. 

I  want  it  understood  from  the  very  out  set  that 
my  genius  cannot  be  paralleled.  And  thatl  put 
a  mephistophelian  touch  of  philosophic  philan- 
tropy  to  all  things  of  a  pious  nature,  can  easily 
be  discerned  with  but  a  glance  of  the  glimm. 

Profoundness  of  thought  and  observation  has 
often  been  imputed  to  me  as  a  crime;  while  the 
Pyrrhonism  of  my  opinions  has  at  all  times  ren- 
dered me  notorious.  Truth  is  frequently,  superfi- 
cial, and  instead  of  being  in  the  depths  where 
we  seek  her,  is  more  often  to  be  found  in  a  most 
conspicuous  spot  before  our  very  eyes. 

Nature  herself  seems  to  afford  me  corrobor- 
ation of  these  ideas.    In  the  contemplation  of  a 


$4 


THE      GENIUS 

star  or  planet  it  always  Struck  me  very  forcibly 
that  1  could  not  distinguish  them  with  nearly  as 
much  precision,  when  1  gazed  upon  them  with 
earnest,  direct,  and  undeviating  attention,  as  when 
I  suffered  my  eye  to  glance  in  their  vicinity  alone. 

1  was  not,  in  my  early  youth,  aware  that  this 
apparent  paradox  was  occasioned  by  the  center 
of  the  visual  area  which  is  less  susceptible  of 
feeble  impressions  of  light  than  the  exterior  por- 
tions of  the  retina. 

This  method  of  reasoning  and  viewing  things 
is  infallible,  and  it  is  with  some  avaricious  hesitancy 
that   1   now   make  it  public. 

On  leaving  college  I  at  once  began  to  look 
about  for  a  channel  large  enough  to  convey  my 
store  of  knowledge  into  the  thirsty  desert  of 
human  ignorance.  My  first  idea  was  to  call  the 
world  into  one  big  meeting  and  thus  enlighten 
all  the  people  of  the  earth,  at  one  and  the  same 
time. 

But  this  was  not  feasible.  1  would  have  liked 
to  proclaimed  my  fund  of  truths  from  the  house 
tops  ;  but  the  picture  of  myself  in  such  position 
was  fierce ;    for  I  might  be    mistaken  for  some 

$5 


THE      GENIOS 

Scissor-Build     stringing  up  a  line  of  telephone 

wires.      My  next  idea  was  to  write  a  poem,  — 

a  poem  !  Good  God,  what  Was  1  thinking  of.   Ah, 

but  1  was  going  to  put  out  a  verse  that  would 

crush  error,  and  sweep  darkness  from  the  face 
of  the  earth  as  with  the  besom  of  the  storm. 

Yet,     it  is  not  every    one  that  reads  poetry; 
many  do  not  believe  what  they  do  read;  besides, 

the  very  form  of  verse  steals  from  strength  as  much 

as  it  adds  to  grace  ;   and  to  expect  a  philosopher 

to  display  the    whole   scope    and  power  of  his 

philosophy    in  metrical    composition,   would  be 

equivalent  to  expect  a  giant  to  display  his  full 

strength,  in  the  slight  step  of  the  waltz.   With 

this  glaring     discouragement  in  my  path,   I  shifted 
my  views,  and  resolved  to  become  an  editor. 

The  multifariousness  of  the  subjects  treated  of 

in  journals  was  alluring.      Ah,    such  luck,  such 
lucl^l  It  was  plain  that  1  was  too  far  advanced, 

there  was'nt  a  publisher  in  the  country  that  would 
trust  their  fate  to  my  genius.  At  last  I  was  driven 
to  dispair,  perversion  and  klepto-plagiarism;  and 
through  the  latter  1  began  to  publish  articles  that 
played  sarcastically  about  the  word  "Government" 
just  like  lightning  plays  about  a  ruin,  showing  the 
hallowness  of  that  which  only  darkness  makes  ap- 
pear impregnably  formidable.  And  1  will  write  and 
re-write  afoutrance,  qui  T  aurait  cru  \ 


SUICIDE 


The  miseries  of  life  are  far  reaching,  and 
are  so  profuse  that  pleasure  is  almost  subordinated 
into  utter  nothingness;  but  as,  in  ethics,  evil  is 
a  consequence  of  good,  so,  in  fad,  out  of  joy 
is  sorrow  born.  Our  anguish  of  today  can  often 
be  traced  to  the  ecstasies  of  the  past. 

The  recollections  of  my  earliest  years  are  con- 
nected with  many  unmentionable  experiences, 
experiences  that  shall  ne'er  be  told,  or  if  told 
there  very  character  would  only  stimulate  disbelief. 

Death  is  inevitable  and  makes  a  complete 
change  in  the  life  of  us  all.  It  is  mere  idleness 
to  say  that  we  have  not  lived  on  earth  before  — 
that  the  soul  has  had  no  previous  existence  We 
will  not  argue.  Convinced  myself  am  very  well 
satisfied;  my  last-previous  embodiment  was  spent 
chiefly  about  New  York  and  Baltimore,  and  I 
take  great  pleasure  in  re-reading  the  tales  I  per- 
petrated nearly  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Several  years  back,  as  the  shades  of  evening 
were  drawing  on,  1  sat  in  a  large  bay  window 
of  a  prominent  hotel  in  Frisco.  The  streets  were 
very  crowded,  and  I  mused  for  some  time  over- 


67 


Suicide 

the  passing  turmoil.  But,  as  the  darkness  came 
on,  the  throng  momently  increased;  and,  by  the 
time  the  lamps  were  well  lighted,  two  dense  and 
continuous  tides  of  population  were  rushing  past 
the  door.  At  this  particular  period  of  the  eve- 
ning 1  had  never  before  been  in  a  similar  situation, 
and  the  tumultuous  sea  of  human  heads  filled 
me,  therefore,  with  a  delicious  novelty  of  emotion. 

1  gave  up,  at  length,  all  care  of  things  within 
the  hotel,  and  became  absorbed  in  contemplation 
of  the  scene  without.  At  fir^t  my  observations 
took  an  abstract  and  generalizing  turn.  1  looked 
at  the  passengers  in  masses,  and  thought  of 
them  in  their  aggregate  relations. 

Soon,  however,  I  descended  to  details,  and  re- 
garded with  minute  interest  the  innumerable 
varieties  of  figure,  dress,  air,  gait,  visage,  and 
expression  of  countenance.  By  far  the  greater 
number  of  those  who  went  by  had  a  satisfied 
business-like  demeanor,  and  seemed  to  be  thinking 
only  of  making  their  way  through  the  throng. 
Their  brows  were  knit,  and  their  eyes  rolled 
quickly  ;  when  pushed  against  by  fellow -wayfarers 

33 


Suicide 

they  evinced  no  symptom  of  impatience,  but 
adjusted  their  clothes  and  hurried  on.  Others, 
Still  a  numerous  class,  were  restless  in  their  move- 
ments, had  flushed  faces,  and  talked  and  gestic- 
ulated to  themselves,  as  if  feeling  in  solitude  on 
account  of  the  company  around. 

When  impeded  in  their  progress,  these  people 
suddenly  ceased  muttering,  and  would  apologize 
with  many  smiles  and  gesticulations.  If  jostled, 
they  appeared  confused  and  bowed  profusely 
to  the  jostlers,  ---I  took  little  or  no  interest  in 
the  commonplace  characters  that  were  hurrying 
by,  such  as  clerks,  business  men,  nabobs  and 
harmless  mcotchers. 

The  crowd  was  infested  with  crooks;  crooks 
that  managed  to  get  by  witless  detectives,  by 
exercising  an  air  of  excessive  frankness,  while 
poetic  dreamers  loitered  along  mysteriously,  too, 
their  philosophic  mannerisms  had  a  tendency  to 
make  them  appear  suspicious  to  less  thinking 
people.  The  wild  effects  of  the  greenish  street 
lamps  rendered  the  faces  rather  wild  and  fan- 
tastic, and  1  could  frequently  read,    even  in    a 

89 


Suicide 

brief  glance,  the  history  of  long  years.  With 
my  brow  to  the  glass,  1  was  thus  occupied  in 
scrutinizing  the  mob,  when  suddenly  there  came 
into  veiw  a  countenance,  a  countenance  which 
at  once  arrested  my  undivided  attention;  it  was  a 
hardened  face  while  the  man  himself  had  much 
the  appearance  of  a  rogue. 

1  sat  and  watched  him  for  seme  time ;  he 
planted  himself  on  the  curbin  and  seemed  to 
try  to  attract  the  attention  of  whatever  intoxicated 
person  that  passed.  Out  of  sheer  curiosity,  1 
tightened  my  coat  high  up  about  my  ears  and 
staggered  diredlly  into  the    arms  of  the  ruman. 

n  So  it  is  you  ?"  said  he,  in  a  voice  that  seemed 
altogether  familiar  "Good,  you  are  just  the  man 
I  am  looking  for,  or  at  any  rate  you  will  do  as 
well  as  any." 

I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  in  disguise,  and 
that  in  a  rather  indirect  way  I  was  rather  well 
aquainted  with  the  man,  in  faCt  he  was  none  other 
than  Frederick  Church,  a  genius  of  the  stage  and 
magnate  in  the  theatrical  world. 

"Listen"    said  he  hurriedly     "be  sure  and  call 


90 


Suicide 

at  my  place  as  early  in  the  morning  as  possible 
it  is  urgent  and  should  you  come  you  will  learn 
something  greatly  to  your  advantage."  Here 
he  pressed  his  card  into  my  hand  and  disappeared 
into  the  throng. 

At  firs!  it  all  seemed  so  Strange  that  1  resolved 
not  to  comply;  but  as  morning  drew  near  I  a- 
rose  hurried  to  his  mansion,  for  mansion  it  was 
and  the  entire  place  was  fairly  alive  with  mag- 
nificence. The  room  was  slill  brilliantly  lighted. 
1  judge  from  this  circumstance,  as  v/ell  as  from 
an  air  of  exhaustion  in  the  countenance  of  my 
friend,  that  he  had  not  retired  to  bed  during  the 
whole  of  the  preceding  night. 

In  the  architecture  and  embellishments  of  the 
chamber,  the  evident  design  had  been  to  dazzle 
and  astound.  Little  attention  had  been  paid  to 
the  decora  of  what  is  technically  called  peeping, 
or  to  the  proprieties  of  nationality.  The  eye 
wandered  from  object,  to  object,  and  resled  upon 
none  —  neither  the  grotesques  of  the  Greek 
painters,  nor  the  sculptures  of  the  best  Italian  days, 
nor   the    huge    carvings    of    untutored    Egypt. 


91 


Suicide 

Rich  draperies  in  every  part  of  the  room  trembled 
to  the  vibration  of  low,  melancholy  music,  whose 
origin  was  not  to  be  discovered.  The  senses 
were  oppressed  by  mingled  and  conflicting  per- 
fumes, reeking  up  from  strange  convolute  censers, 
together  with  multitudinous  flaring  and  flickering 
tongues  of  emerald  and  violet  fire. 

The  rays  of  the  newly  risen  sun  poured  in 
upon  the  whole,  through  windows  formed  each 
of  a  single  pane  of  crimson-tinted  glass.  Glanc- 
ing to  and  fro,  in  a  thousand  reflections,  from 
curtains  which  rolled  from  their  cornices  like 
cataracts  of  molten  silver,  the  beams  of  natural 
glory  mingled  at  length  fitfully  with  the  artificial 
light,  and  lay  weltering  in  subdued  masses  upon 
a  carpet  of  rich,  liquid-looking  cloth  of  Chili  gold. 

"Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  "  —  laughed 
Frederick,  motioning  me  to  a  seat  as  1  entered 
the  room,  and  throwing  himself  back  upon  a 
leathern  couch.  "1  see"  said  he,  perceiving  that 
I  could  not  immediately  reconcile  myself  to  the 
bienseance  of  so  singular  a  welcome  —  "I  see 
you  are    astonished  at  my  apartment  —  at  my 

92 


Suicide 

statues  —  my  pictures  —  my  originality  of  con- 
ception in  architecture  and  upholslery--- abso- 
lutely drunk,  eh  ?  with  my  magnificence  ?  But 
pardon  me,  my  dear  sir,  (here  his  tone  of  voice 
dropped  to  the  very  spirit  of  cordiality,  )  pardon 
me  for  my  uncharitable  laughter. 

You  appeared  so  utterly  astonished.  Besides, 
some  things  are  so  completely  ludicrous  that  a 
man  must  laugh  or  die.  To  die  laughing  must 
be  the  most  glorious  deaths !  But  in  the  present 
instant,"  he  resumed,  with  a  singular  alteration 
of  voice  and  manner,"  I  have  no  right  to  be 
merry  at  your  expense. 

You  might  well  have  been  amazed.  Europe 
cannot  produce  anything  so  fine  as  this,  my  little 
regal  cabinet.  My  other  apartments  are  by  no 
means  of  the  same  order;  mere  ultras  of  fash- 
ionable insipidity.  This  is  better  than  fashion 
---  is  it  not?  Yet  this  has  but  to  be  seen  to 
become  the  rage  ---  that  is,  with  those  who  could 
afford  it  at  the  cos!  of  their  entire  patrimony. 
I  have  guarded,  however,  against  any  such  pro- 
fanation; with  one  exception    you  are  the  only 


93 


Suicide 

human  being  besides  myself  and  one  other,  who 
has  been  admitted  within  the  mysteries  of  these 
imperial  precin&s,  since  they  have  been  bedizened 
as  you  see  !" 

1  bowed  in  acknowledgment ;  for  the  over- 
powering sense  of  splendor  and  perfume,  and 
music,  together  with  the  unexpected  eccentricity, 
of  his  address  and  manner,  prevented  me  from 
expressing,  in  words,  my  appreciation  of  what  I 
might  have  construed  into  a  compliment. 

"Here"  he  resumed,  arising  and  leaning  on 
my  arm  as  he  sauntered  around  the  apartment, 
"here  are  paintings  from  the  Geeks  to  Cimabue, 
and  from  Cimabue  to  the  present  hour.  Many 
are  chosen,  as  you  see,  with  little  deference  to 
the  opinions  of  virtue. 

They  are  all,  however,  fitting  tapestry  for  a 
chamber  such  as  this ;  here  too,  are  some  chefs 
J*  aeuvre  of  the  unknown  great  —  -  and  here  un- 
finished designs  by  men,  celebrated  in  their  day, 
whose  very  names  the  perspicacity  of  the  academies 
has  left  to  silence  and  to  me.  What  think  you/' 
said  he,  turning  abruptly  as  he  spoke  —  "what 


94 


Suicide 

think  you  of  this  Premature  Burial?" 

n  It  is  a  marvel ! "  I  said,  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
of  my  nature,  for  1  had  been  poring  intently  over 
its  surpassing  tecnique.  "  Its  a  gem  !  ---  how  could 
you  have  obtained  it?" 

"Ha?"  said  he  thoughtfully,  "The  Mayor 
of  this  city  was  a  fool  ;  the  painting  was  presented 
to  him  by  the  artist  himself,  the  artist  was  a  noble 
fellow,  and  a  genius  of  no  common  order;  but 
lives  in  miserable  seclusion  in  an  ancient  shacque 
on  Fulton  Road  and  Laguna.  In  my  opinion 
the  Mayor  was  foolish,  for  he  turned  the  picture 
over  to  me  gratis,  (we  were  friends  from  childhood) 
as  he  seemed  to  think  the  subject  ungodly  weird  ; 
as  for  me"  he  continued,  "I  love  both  the 
weird  and  fantastic  —  who  was  it  said  : 

Melancholy,  the  vampire  bat 
Long  upon  my  bosom  sat, 
and  i  would  rave  but  that  he  flings 
a  sweet  nepenthe  off  his  wings. 

"It  has  been,  or  should  be  remarked,  that, 
in  the  manner  of  the  true  gentleman,  we  are 
always  aware  of  a  difference  from  the  bearing  of  the 


95 


Suicide 

vulgar,  without  being  at  once  precisely  able  to 
determine  in  what,   such  difference  consists. n 

I  could  easily  note  the  blearing  rheum  of  in- 
toxication in  the  eyes  of  my  friend,  and  at  times 
he  carried  on  in  a  most  peculiar  manner. 

"Come,"  he  said  at  length,  turning  towards 
a  table  of  richly  enamelled  and  massive  silver, 
upon  which  were  a  few  goblets  fantastically 
stained,  together  with  two  large  Etruscan  vases, 
fashioned  in  the  same  extraordinary  model  as 
that  which  is  seen  so  much  among  the  royals, 

"Come"  he  said  abruptly,  "let  us  drink/ 
It  is  early---  but  let  us  drink.  Let  us  pour  out 
an  offering  to  yon  solemn  sun  which  these  gaudy 
lamps     and  censers  are  so  eager    to  subdue  !" 

And  having  made  me  pledge  him  in  a  bumper, 
he  swallowed  in  rapid  succession  several  goblets 
of  wine;  while  his  stentorian  voice  rose  with  : 

quano     un      bon     vin      meuble     mon      estomac, 

je     suis     plus     savant     que     balsac 

Plus     sage     que     Pibrac; 

mon      bras     seul     fa1sant     l'attaque 

de     la     nation     cossaque, 

La     mettroit     au      sac: 

De     Charon     je    passerois     le    lac 

En     dormant     dans     son     bac; 

J'irois     au      fier       Eac, 

Sans     que     mon    coeur     fit    tic     ni     tac. 
Presenter     du     tabac. 

96 


Suicide 

In  the  next  instant,  confessing  the  power  of 
the  wine,  he  threw  himself  at  full  length  upon 
the  couch.  Drawing  an  envelop  from  his  inner 
pocket  he  tossed  it  toward  me;  bewildered,  I 
stepped  hastily  to  his  side;  I  endeavored  to  a- 
rouse  him;  but  his  limbs  were  sliff  —  his  body 
fast  became  rigid  —  his  lips  took  on  a  livid  hue, 
and  1  readily  saw  that  his  eyes  were  riveted  in 
death. 

Nervously  opening  the  note  1  read  : 
n  The  crimes  of  man  are  many,  and  often  times 
the  soul  of  man  takes  up  a  burthen  so  heavy  in 
horror  that  it  can  be  thrown  down  only  into  the 
grave.  Even  fearing  to  die  alone,  1  have  managed 
to  solicit  a  companion  that  would  be  with  me  at 
my  decease,  and  to  whom  I  will  everything.  My 
actions  will  be  explained  when  the  body  of  my 
aged  uncle  is  found  mouldering  in  the  atic, 

I  now  die  by  my  own  hand. 
Frederick  Church." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  POEMS 


O,  nothing  clever,   save  the  way, 
Weird-like    subjects  hold   the    eye, 
As  do  the    demons  ghastly  gay, 
That  form  imagination's  prey. 

O,   nothing  clever  enough  to  fill 
Your  soul  with  approbating  thrill, 
As  does  the  work  ot  passion-hearted 
Master  writers  long    departed 
Who.s  names  on  earth  will  ever  dwell 
Like  the  endless  sea -song  in  a  shell. 

O,   nothing  finished  as  the  flowers 
Or  quite   as  lofty  as  the  towers, 
Never  the   less  a  philosopher  sees, 
That  Weird  (non -tragic)  things  will  please. 


ta\ 


mm 


9* 


SACRAMENTAL 


f.MR.     P"LAGG     ONCE     REMARKED      "iCAN  WRITE    A9l 
lWELL  ON  ONE  SUBJECT  AS  ANOTHER.   PSYCHOLOG- 
ICALLY SPEAKING.  ALL  THINGS  ARE  EQUAL  ANYWAY." 
WE  PLAINLY  BEARS  OUT  THIS  VIEW  !N  THE  TWO  FOLLOWING  POEMS  . 

EOJTOR 

One  speaks  for  all ! —  when  Peter  thus 
Speaks  for  himself,  he  speaks  for  us  ; 
And  we,  who  love  the  Saviour's  name, 
Love  him  with  Peter's  earnest  flame. 
Come  ye  who  such  appeal  can  make. 
Who  love  him  for  his  own  dear  sake, 
Come!—-  in  his  arms  of  grace  recline, 
And  feasl  with  him  on  bread  and  wine. 
A  royal    table !  royal    cheer ! 
Hasle,  hungry,  thirsty,  fainting  here ! 
Sweet  Mercy  o'er  the  feasl:  folds  wings, 
And  with  us  sits  the  King  of  kings. 
Emblem  of  Heaven's  fruition  this! 
And  hark,  a  voice  comes  on  our  bliss 
To  each,  to  all---'*  Say,  lovst  thou  me  ?" 
Thou  knowesU Lord,  that  we  love  thee  ! 

100-a 


: 


' 


A  THOROUGH  BOHEMIAN 

I'm  just  human  and  have  no  creed, 
Nor    do   1   try    to    lift  or  save, 
I  won't  appeal  or    intercede 
For    any    fool    or    any    knave ; 
I     never    make    a    rigid    pledge 
And    no  man's  character    I    assail  ; 
Yet  others  swing  a  heavy  sledge 
Of  criticism  rant  and    stale. 
I'm    faithful    to    the    thinker's   post 
And  my  own  soul  I'm  captain  of ; 
No    holly    fire  or  pentecost 
Can  force  on  me  a  Saviour's  love. 
I  nght  alone,   and  win  or  sink, 
I  need  no  one  to  make  me  free. 
I  want  no  Jesus  Christ  to  think 
That  he    could   ever  die  for  me. 
I  always  give   what  e'er  I  can 
And  lay  away  no  miser's  store 
And  what   I   take  from  any  man 
I  have   no  thankful  feeling  for. 
All  you  worship,   fear  and  trust, 
I  kick  into  the  sewers  maw 
And  fling  my  hatred  and  disgust 
Against  your  paltry  grafting  law 
And  all  I  wish  beneath  the  sky 
Is  simply  this--  to  live  and  die. 

100-b 


MAN   AND  BEAST 

Says  Tom  to  Dick,  the  other  day, 
Tve  been  thinking  that  our  bosses 
Could  use  us  better  every  way, 
If  we  were  horses." 

1 0,   no,   for  horses  may  be  losT: 
We  know  without  the  aid  of  scholars 
That  to  replace  one  it  may  cosl, 
A  hundred  dollars. 

But  you  and  1  may  Starve  and   slave, 
What    matters  if  we're  men  and   brothers  ; 
If  we  should  die,   they  will  not   have 
To  purchase    others.  " 

100-: 


THE   SKY   PILOT 


He  ftood  at  the  altar, 
(For  he  had  no  chair,) 
Brass  rings  on  his  fingers 
And    lard  on  his  hair. 

He  Stood  at  the  altar, 
No    watch  on  his  fob, 
A  pedant  sky-pilot, 
As  straight  as   a  cob. 

He  Stood  at  the   altar, 
In  humanity's  guise  --- 
A   grin  graced  his  features, 
And    goggles  his  eyes; 

He   stood    at   the   altar; 
As  shrewd  ones  have  said, 
Without   cents  in  his  pockets 
Or    sense   in    his  head. 

100-6 


IT  IS  TO  DREAM 


i  threw  a  bauble  to  the  sea, 
A  billow  caught  it  hastily ; 
Another  billow  quickly  came 
Successfully  the  prize  to  claim; 
From  wave  to  wave  unchecked  it  passed. 
Till  tossed  upon  the  strand  at  la& 
Of  some  far  distant  shore. 
Is  life   then,  a  passing  dream, 
And  are  we  doomed  to  dream  and  dream. 
To  dream  forevermore  ? 


s&^&'j- 


too-* 


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■4 

a 


o 

> 

2  O 

o  it 

1  J 

z 

m  <0 


>    5 

I    3 

>        2 


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■a 
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m 

■< 


> 
o 


KING  DEATH 

Fatal  the  course,  of  King  Death's  horse ; 

That  bears   my  dreaded  form. 

Rapid  and  dark,  the  specter  bark 

As  it  sweeps  before  the  storm  ; 

Weirdly  bright,  through  satonic  night 

Hideous  eye-balls  glare. 

Fiercely  the  spires,  of  volcanic  fires 

Stream  on  the  sulphurious  air. 

From  the  womb  of  the  waters, 

Athirst  for  slaughters, 

I  arose   that  thirst  to  sate; 

Green  isles  are  graves  in  the  waste  of  waves 

When  I  wish  them  desolate. 

Do  I   not  pass,   the  man,   the  mass 

And  their  very  life-blood  spill  ? 

O'er  burning   sands,   o'er  frosty  lands 

1  glide  to  slay  and  kill. 

Then  hark  to  the   beat  of  my  cloven  feet ; 

And  you,   who  ride  the   sea, 

Where  are  your  dreams,  that  the  ocean  stream; 

Would  be  safety  unto  thee  ? 

Tis  well  to  harken,   for  I   shall  darken 

The  glow  of  thy  festal  cheer, 

And  spread  disease  upon  the  breeze 

To  mock  the  sinner'    fear. 

100-s 


THE    POET   AND  ITHE  SPARROW 


In  the  chill  snow,  a  birdling  hopped, 
And  thus  exposed  were  its  tender  feet, 
He  chirped  to  me,  and  then  I  slopped; 
While  he  sang  and  slid  about  the  sleet. 

"Dear  birdie"  said  1.  with  a  smile, 
"You  are,  no  doubt,  by  nature  sent! 
For  mans  sad  spirits  you  beguile , 
And    teach    him    lessons    of  content." 


iQO-k 


■    ■  -  ' 

! 

"ail  CJr 

■ 


Wi 


doo> 


MY  GUIDING  STAR 


O,  midnight  gem !  thy  grandeur  needs 
No  poet's  pen  to   crown  thy  train  ; 
With  gilded  car  and  airy  steeds 
Thou  rides  along  the  sapphire  plain. 

How  oft  beneath  some  sylvan  bower, 
I've  sat  and  watched  thy  shimmering  rays; 
Half  dream-like  in  thy  fairy  power, 
Thinking  of  boyhood's  happy  days;— 

Have  dreamed  of  beings  pure  and  bright, 
Arrayed  in  weeds  of  somber    woe  ; 
Who  far  from  earthly  cares    and  blight, 
Now  roam  where  streams  of  glory  flow. 
And  some  day  too,  I  wish  to  be, 
A  great  star-rover,  just  like   thee. 


THE  SCRIBE 


A    man  of  letters.     A  pen. 
No  creed  or  greed  to  fowl  his  aim. 
He  ftands  a  man  among  all  men, 
And  knows  the  tricks  of  any  game. 

Worked  and  studied,  through  hard  years, 
Though  his  morals  aint  worth  a  damn  — 
We  raise  our  glass  in  earnesl :    Here's 
No  mollycoddle,   but  a  man. 


TO   ANNA 

Adieu  —  I    ne'er  may  see  thee  more, 

But  treasured  in  this  faithful  breast, 

Although  I  roam  a  distant  shore, 

Thy  saintly  image  Still  shall  rest; 

And  like  yon  star's  celestial  beam, 

That  gilds  the  cloud -wreathed  brow  of  night 

Shed  o'er  life's  dark  and  troubled  stream, 

A  ray  of  pure  and  holy  light. 

Each  whispered  word  —  each  look  of  thine 

That  sanctifies  this  parting  hour, 

A  holy  spell  will  sure  entwine, 

And  shield  me  with  its  magic  power. 

When  rosy  twilight's  lingering  ray, 

From  off  the  ocean's  heaving  breast, 

Softly  and  sweetly  melts  away, 

And  all  puts  on  a  look  of  rest, 

Then,  Anna,   I'll  live  o'er  again, 

Those  bright-winged  moments  spent  with  thee, 

And  though  devided  by  the  main, 

Our  souls  will  still  commingled  be. 

Paris    1911. 


THE  COQUETTE 


It  was  a  lady  young  and  fair 
Who  sang  the  mornful  strain, 
Her  brow  wore  not  a  shade  of  care, 
Her  cheek  no  trace  of  pain  ; 
Yet  sung  she,  just  as  one  who  knows 
How  youthful  hearts  are  torn, 
Love's  first  step  is  upon  the  rose, 
The  second  finds  the  thorn. 

No  brighter,  lovelier  face  appears 
In  pleasure's  crowded  mart, 
That  proud  eye  was  not  made  for  tears, 
No  blight  should  touch  that  heart; 
Yet,  mark  how  sad  the  music  flows 
From  lips  curled  half  in  scorn,— 
Love's  fir&  step  is  upon  the  rose, 
The  second  finds  the  thorn. 


The  COuqette 


Bright   jewels  bound  her  raven  hair* 
And   sparkled  on   her  hand, 
For  earth  held  naught  of  rich  or  rare 
Her  wealth   might  not  command  ; 
But  as  she  sings,  some  memory  throws 
Its  shadow  o'er  life's  morn  ;— 
Love's   first  step  is  upon  the   rose, 
The  second  finds  the  thorn. 

Alas!  it  is  a  weary  task, 

To  trace  life's  hidden  cares, 

And  who  would  raise  the  smiling  mask 

A  deceitful  maiden  wears  ? 

Her  mournful  song  may  well  disclose 

How  much  her    soul  is  worn  :— 

Loves  first  step  is  upon  the  rose, 

The  second  finds  the  thorn. 


STAR  OF  HOPE 


Ah  !  how  darksome,  long  and  dreary, 
Hang  the  heavy  shades  of  night, 
While  the  sleepless  eye  is  weary, 
Waiting  for  the  dawning  light ! 

Lo,    it  comes-— its    herald  cheering 
Mounts  the  eastern  sky  afar! 
On  its    dusky  verge  appearing, 
Shines  the    beauteous  morning  star. 

Yet,  oh,  when  shall  dawn  the  morrow 
On  a  spirit  most  forlorn, 
Through  the  darkest  hours  of  sorrow 
Watching  for  a  ray  of  morn  ? 


100 


MELANCHOLY 

Grief  is  bitter  in  the  hour 
When  we  feel  its  goading  power; 
When  beneath  its  venomed  smart 
Reels  the  brain  and  sinks  the  heart; 
Then  the  laboring  bosom  swells 
Struggling  with  its  deep  distress, 
And    from  the  very  inmost  cells 
Gush    the  drops   of   bitterness. 
But  when  melancholy   flings 
From  his  soft  and  soothing  wings, 
Melting      in    the    heart    away 
The  deepest  anguish  day  by  day; 
So,  grief,  in  melancholy's  hand, 
Dismal,  sweet,  and  soft  appears; 
Though  no  smile  it  can  demand, 
Niether   does   it   call  for  tears. 
Then,   far   better   than  all  this, 
We  receive  Death's  lasting  kiss 
Breathing  on  the  wounded  heart 
Balm   no  other  can  impart. 


tol 


THE      FORMLESS      FIEND 


Yes,  yes  !     I  hear  the  midnight  blast 

Moaning      'round     my     lonely    home, 

And    over  every  thing  is  cast 

A     spell     of    melancholy    gloom 

It    mourns  like    spirits    on  the    wing; 

Hark!    heSr  the  swishing  of  the  rain 

Screaming  through  the  whistling  wind, 

Then  ail  is  still  again. 

The    ragged  jagged    lightning's    fire 

Pierces    through     the     dismal    night. 

And    when  the    thunder  roars  its  ire 

my    spirit  feels  delight 

To    hear    the    elemental    strife, 

To    see    the  demon    ride  the  storm, 

A  jepardizer   of  all  life; 

A  fiend  without  a  form. 


lot 


Jvre     divino 


The    grave   is  cheeless   to   the  view, 

And  mouldering  remnants  lie  around 

Of  what  was   man  —  yet  balmy  sleep, 

Is    here,     unbroken,     to    be    found. 

When  friends  fall  off  like  Autumn  leaves, 

And  all  of  life  is    wrapped  in   gloom; 

Where  can  a    blighted  heart  find  ease 

As    sweet  as   in  a  dreamless    tomb? 

Do  not   grieve;  that  life  muft  end  — 

This    weary  life,  we   seem  to   crave 

For    death    inevitably      will      lend 

Eternal     res*     within     the     grave. 


103 

AEONS     OF     AGES 


I  oft  cogitate  on  the  mystical  past  many  aeons   ago, 

When  cohesion  of     'lectrons   firs!  began 

In  terrestrial  caverns  below 

Yes,    I    oft     wonder     how     the    heulandite     grew, 

In  its  terrahexahedronical    way, 
Enclosed  in  its  amygdaloidalic  home,  in  the  antedil- 
uvian day. 

The    great    pachydermatous    Dinotheriums    roamed, 

Though  hyposlatically  unknown  to  me, 
In  those  hyperborean  regions   of  cold,  by  the  paleo- 

crystic   sea. 

But    by    some  sudden   glacial  cataclysmatic   change, 

The  whole  Brobdingnaggian  mess 

Were  irrevocably  buried  in  Cenozoic  drift, 

And  irretrievably  loft    —  I    guess. 


THE      CAMERIST 

(t  may  be  that  I  am  defective 
in  humor;  but  I'd  like  to  hammer  a 
Youth  that's  abroad  with  a  detective 

CAMERA. 

I  cannot  find,  though  long  reflective, 
iii  dictionary  or  in  grammer,  a 
Phrase   to  fit  him  and   that  detective 

CAMERA. 

H<;  shoots  a  face  in  wild  persective; 
He  makes  one  look  like  a  jim- jammer  a 
Doddering    wreck,  with  his  detective 

CAMERA. 

}  le  shows  these  libels,  irrespective, 
To  our  friends,  who  raise  a  clammer  a 
Wiid  shriek  of  mirth  o'er  his  detective 


CAMERA. 


IV!  like  to  try  my  hand  corrective. 
And  give  this  gay  pictorial  clammer  a 
5^t,   with   his  ever  alert   detective 


CAMERA. 
104 


ETERNAL      SOLITUDE 

Come,  pace  the  moon-lit  deck  with  me 
Hie  wind  is  blowing  wild  and  free, 
Flic  ship  skims  en  the  ocean's  breast, 
And  all  around,  the  foaming  crest 
Of  many  a  wave  is  clinging  now 
Whose  whiteness  rivals  beauty's  brow 
Come  out  on  deck  and  you  shall  see 
Flow  weird  a  night  can  really  be, 
When  deadly  fogs  obstruct  the  sight 
No  moon  or  stars  to  render  light; 
Come,  let  me  fill  your  drowsy  ears 
With  a  dreary  tale  of  other  years. 
T'was  years  ago  that  1  was  thrown 
Upon  this  wide  world,  all  alone, 
'Till  he  above  all  might  and  right, 
That  guides  the  earth  in  spacious  flight 
Put  forth  a  friend  to  lead  my  youth, 
In  sweet  paths  of  love  and  truth  ! 
He  had  a  flower  beside  his  hearth, 
That  shed  such  fragrance  on  his  path, 
That  wild  idolatry  was  poured, 
E'en  as  a  miser's  countless  hoard, 
On  her  whose  heart  was  all  his  own, 

105 


Eternal    Soutude 

And  richer  than  a  monarch's  throne  ! 
See  this  picture  in  this  case, 
Where  some  artist  tried  to  trace, 
In  fadeless  hues,  her  peerless  face; 
'Tis  like  her,  but  not  half  as  fair  — 
the  life,  the  soul  is  wanting  there ! 
Come,  come,  the  fog  is  almost  here, 
Let  's  watch  the  moon  slide  in  its  rear 
Now  we  '11  see  the  sky  arrange 
Itself  into  a  fearful  change. 
To  me,  the  coming  storm  floats  'round 
With  a  low,    sad,  persuasive  sound. 

Oh,  yes,  oh  yes,  I  was  to  tell 
The  time,  to  me,  the  earth  was  Hell 
Well,  to  us  lovers  once,  there  came 
To  feed  love's  never  dying  flame 
Rich  words  of  deep  abiding  trust, 
That  always  conquer,  always  must! 
True  unto  nature,  no  disguise 
Ere  veiled  the  language  of  her  eyes. 
How  oft  upon  tome  lonely  rock, 
Whose  base  received  the  billows  shock 
In  days  of  yore,  thru*  summer  hours, 

106 


Eternal    Solitude 

Forsaking  all  the  tranquil  bowers, 
We  oft  reclined  —  her  soft  white  hand 
Laid  lovingly  in  both  of  mine; 
She  was  one  of  an  angel  band 
And  was  willing  to  resign. 
While  toiling  on  a  foreign  shore, 
For  wealth  to  scatter  at  her  feet, 
Eire  at  the  alter  1  could  pour 
The  vows  that  render  all  complete, 
A  stranger's  voice  bade  me  return, 
If      once      again    I    would    discern 

The  form  1  loved. 
Why  linger  on  a  mateless  bird, 
With  wound  scarce  hidden  by  its  wing 
With  every  depth  of  anguish  stirred  — 
A  lyre  with  no  unbroken  siring! 
I  hurried  o're  the  restless  main, 
With  every  foot  of  canvas  free, 
And  trod  my  native  soil  again, 
And  mingled  'mong  the  throngs  of  men 
A  hopeless  child  of  misery  ! 
I  knelt  beside  her  dying  bed, 
And  on  her  bosom  bent  my  head; 
Twas  then  she   calmly  sank  in  rest, 

107 


Eternal     Solitude 

Even  as  these  waters  die  away 
when  the  breezes  cease  to  play ! 
They  laid  her  in  a  sheltered  spot, 
A  cool,  sequestered  pleasant  grot, 
And  there  a  monument  is  raised 
To  the  one  I  highly  praised. 
I  planted  willows  around  her  bed, 
That  now  are  waving  'bove  her  head 
And  seem  to  moan  with  pensive  sound 
0*re  slumber  which  is  so  profound; 
Its  at  this  shrine,  1  sometimes  kneel, 
When  there  in  solitude  1  Steal; 
And  ask  her  gentle  soul  to  plead 
For  mine,  when  in  its  hour  of  need. 
Around  that  grave  my  feet  have  trod 
Until  my  foot-prints  mark  the  sod! 
And  tis  ever  anon  that  1  pray, 
That  when  my  form  musl  know  decay 
That  in  that  spot  my  troubled  breasl, 
Shall  find  a  realm  of  endless  rest, 
For  death  is  but  a  soul  food 
Of  eternal  solitude. 


108 


IMMORTALITY 

Bury  me    *mid  solem  hills; 
Far  from  the  homes   of  men,  away 
Where  wailing  winds  and  lute-like  rills 
Breathe  o're  the  dead  a  burial  lay. 
No  mortal  eye  must  see  the  spot 
In  winter's  wrath  or  summer's  bloom, 
Let  sleep,  forgetting  and  forgot, 
A  tenant  of  a  lonely    tomb  — - 
O're  which,  as  if  they  too  could  gr  ieve, 
A  shroud  of  leaves  that  Autumns  weave 
Where  nearly  every  evening  sky 
Has  her  clouds  all  tipped  with  fire. 
And  the  lone-bird  wandering  by 
Shall  sadly  Play   its  woodland  lyre; 
And  there,  all  the  stars  shall  beam 
With  softer  light  and  gentler  grace 
Than  ever  they  were  known  to  gleam 
And  not  a  foot    shall  dare     intrude, 
Upon    the    peaceful     solitude. 
An  artist  is  but  Natures  child  — 
And  is  always  loved  by  her  : 
Shall  the  not,  in  woodland  wild 
Protect  her  sleeping   worshiper? 

lOt 


IMMORTALITY 

And  as  the    silent  years  are  seen 
To  mark  the  mighty  shore  of  time, 
Saail  nature  not,  unwearied  lean 
Above    such  sepulchre  sublime? 
Yet,  often  times  1  think  my  name 
Shall  never  gild  the  roll  of  fame. 
But,  when  fame  ever  takes  a    start 
It  penetrates  the  prison  stone 
And  finds  the    center  of  the  heart 
That  throbs  with  feelings  like  its  own: 
The  great  sea  speaks  —  and  the  arch 
Of  heaven,  when  through  cloudy  bars 
To  seraph- music  brightly  march 
The  glorious  army  of  the  stars ! 
It    is    to  sleep  beneath  the   flowers; 
When  one  has  finished    on  the  earth 
To  loll  about  in  dream-land  bowers 
And  enjoy  their  heavenly  worth. 
*Tis  well  for  one  to  leave  the  throng 
For  rustic  woods,  to  catch  the  tone 
Of  stream  and  wind  when  at  their  song, 
There  with  Nature  all  alone  — 
Surrounded  with  the  forest  wild 
In  the  realms  where  God  has  smiled. 


tie 


IMMORTALITY 

Remarks  from  nature,  which  is  caught 
From  minstrel  stream  or  murmuring  rill 
Lives    for   e'er   and   is   fraught 
With  all   that's   needed    to   fulfill 

An  artist's  wishes. 
Of  all  the  things    beneath   the  sky, 
The     beautiful    can    never  die. 


TWILIGHT 

How  sweetly  comes  the  silver  moon, 
From  out  its  clouded  curtain  bower ; 
While  stars  their  angel  watches  keep, 
And  balmy  dews  embathe  each  flower. 

The  glories  of  the  dying   day, 
A   golden  hue  have  left    on  earth; 
Hushed  is  the  music   of  the    grove. 
And  gone  the  shout  of  boisterous  mirth, 

Far  as  my   eye  this  hour  may  scan, 
The    boundless   bosom   of   the   sea ; 
No  speck  of  life   or    snowy    sail 
Appears— -but   one   tranquillity 

Rests  over  all  —  sweet  hour  of  peace, 
That  unto  weary    man  doth    bring ; 
Oblivion     to   his     care-worn  heart, 
Like  a  fanning  of  an  Angel's  wing. 


in 


THE   GOOD   SHIP,   STYX 


Hurrah!  hurrah  for  the  foaming  flood 

Of  fiery  Phlegethon, 

A  demon  bride, 
And  a  devilish  bridegroom  side  by  side, 
Are  sailing  that  river  upon  ; 
He  is  an  imp  of  the  very  beft  blood, 
And  she 's  a  son  of  a  gun. 

Their  barque  is  the  shattered  fragments  of 

A  shipwreck  long  ago, 

In  a  fanthomless  bay, 
For  a  cycle  of  years  it  rotting  lay, 

So  the  devil  mployed  it  now 
The  roof  of  the  murky  pit  he  clove, 
And  the  old  hull  tumbled  through. 

From  the  sinews  dry,  her  ropes  were  made, 
Of  a  race  of  Egyptian  kings, 
Newly  lifted  from 
The  vaults  of  a  Mephistophelian  catacomb  ; 
Her  sails   were  leathery  things, 
Of  murderers    skins  that  alive  were  flayed 
Some  were,  and   of  vampire's  wings. 


113 


The  good  ship,  Styx 

Her  blocks  and  spars  were  men's  skulls  and  bones  ; 

Some  were  by  famine  slain, 

Some  met  their    doom 
From  the  burning  blasl  of  a  great  simoom, 
And  for  ages  unburied  had  lain, 
Even  where  they  had  heaved  their  dying  groans, 
In  the  midsT:  of  a  desert    plain. 

Her  masl  was  the  Stem  of  a  Upas  tree, 
For  many  a  death  renowned, 
And  slill  it  bore 

Of    poisonous   juices,  a    pestilent    store, 

And  the  devil  a  banquet  founo; 

He  tapped  it  —  "  'tis  very  good  liquor,"  said  he, 
And  he  handed  the  goblet  round. 

And   the  demon  mariners  shrieked  as  they  found 
A  drink  that  was  quite  to  their  mind, 
They  sucked    it    dry, 

And  then  with  their  teeth  and  claws  did  try, 

To    tear    off    the    horrible    rind, 

And  frightful  to  hear  was  the  gnashing  sound 
Of  their  tusks  as  they  did  grind. 


U4 


The  good  Ship,  Styx 

The  vessel  was  manned  by  the  self  same  crew 
That  with  her  did  plumb  the  deep 
Ah!  little  they  thought 

When  in  fancied  security,  slumber  they  sought, 

Then  would  never  again  watch  keep  ; 

The  storm  on  the   pinions  of  destiny   flew, 
And  they  slept  an  eternal  sleep. 

All    fleshless  — all    lifeless  — all   soulless    now, 
They  moved  in  skeleton  shape  ; 
'Twas    hideous    to    see 

Those  bony  things  trying  to  join  in  the     glee, 

With  their  Dead  jaws  all  agape, 

And  to  hear  as  they  trailed  themselves  to  and  fro, 
Their  dry  joints  creak  and  snap. 

And  as  each  one  in  turn  to  his  grinning  jowl, 

Lifted  a  vessel  up— - 

(A  suicide's  skull, 
With  the  thick  black  juice  from  the  Upas,  full 

Festering  in  the  cup,) 
Right    thro'     their  jaws  the    liquor    would    fall, 
And  down  on  their  bare  ribs  drop. 


U5 


The  good  Ship,  Styx 

In  one  fearful  group  from  the  others  apart, 
They  were  playing  for  awful  gain. 
The  souls  of  those, 

Who  wicked  lives  brought  to  a  wicked  close. 
Now  doomed  to  un-ending  pain 

Satan  poured  vitrol  on  each  one's  heart, 

And  placed  insects  in  each  one's  brain. 


MONOGAMY 


The  chain  which  links  my  soul  to  thine, 
1  sometimes  fear  may  be  less  bright, 
That  sorrow  yet  may  dim  the  shrine 
On  which   my  soul  has  casl  its   light. 

When  e'er  thou  art,  or  seemest  cold, 
My  bosom  saddens  with  a   fear, 
That    love    so    easily    controlled, 
May  perish  when  it  is    mosl:   dear. 

I  know  not  why  such  thots  should  come, 
To   frighten    thus  my  brief  repose, 
As  humming-birds  that  cease  to  roam, 
Find   shelter  in  the    fragrant  rose 

And  slumbering  in  its  blushing  core, 
Content  with  all  the  sweetness  there, 
Forget  the  blossoms  that  before 
Tempted  their  wings  to  try  the  air  -— 

My  spirit-bird  has  found  her  rest, 
And  in  the  shelter  of  thy  love, 
All  timidly   she    builds   her  nest, 
Without  a  thought  or    wish  to    rove. 

She  leaves  it  to  less  happy  things, 
To  seek  all  flowers  that  brave  the  sun; 
She  is  content  to  fold  her  wings, 
And  gather  honey  but  from  one. 


\w 


THE   LAST   LOOK 


She  wept  beside  the   couch   of  him 
Who  won  her  bridal  vow,  — 
While  death  like  ray  of  starlight  dim 
Slept  palely  on   his  brow : 
I  come  to  thee  —  in  tears  1  come, 
I  who  have  known  thee  best: 
The  constant  turtle  seeks  the  home 
Where  she  was  wont   to   rest. 

1  cannot  tear  my  soul  away-— 
Sweet  Love,  thou  wert  its  light ! 
Too  sad  will  seem  the  cheerless  day ! 
Too   long  the  dreary  night! 
And  who  will  guard  againsl  life's  slorm 
My  solitary    heart  ? 
Ah  !  me,  give  back  these  kisses  warm, 
We  may  not  —  cannot  part. 


ll* 


The   last   Look 

But  hift !  what  freezing  thots  restrain 
The  words   I    fain   would  speak, 
As  on  that  icy   breast  again 
I  lay  my  burning  cheek? 
How  cold  !---  my  love,  is  this  the  spot 
I've   lov'd    all    else    besides !  — 
Alas !  a  pulseless  heart  is   not 
The    pillow    of  thy    bride ! 

And  yet  that   lip  of  softened  mould 
Seems  such  as  once  was  thine ! 
No,  no  ---'tis  pale,  and  clammy  coldf 
And  answers  not  to  mine  ; 
it  breathes  no  word  of  soothing  tone, 
it  has  no  smile  for  me  ;— 
And  as  I  look,   1  feel  alone,  — 
I    feel    alone    with    thee. 

The  spirit  light  whose   flame    divine 

Burns  not  by  human  will, 

Hath  vanish'd  from  its  earthly  shrine 

And  left  the  temple  chill; 

And  shadowy  phantoms,  from  above, 

Seem  whispering  thro'  the  air : 

"You  look  not  on  the  face  you  love  — - 

'Tis  death  who  sleepeth  there." 


U9 


SO  DROOPED  THE  GIRL 


Sing,  minflrel,  sing  the  bier 
Where  rayless    she  doth  lie, 
Like  moon's  bright  dewy  tear, 
Crushed  by  rude  footsteps  ere 
The  sun  is  high ! 

Lift    up    the  jealous    veil 
Which  fain  would  interpose 
Its  folds  of  fabic  pale, 
To  hide  —  sounds  soft  the  wail 
Love's  bosom  rose. 

Let    music's  deepest  swell 
Rise  sweet  the  lute  above, 
And  'mid  its  pauses  tell, 
How    faded    and    how    fell 
That  flower  of  love. 

t20 


So   Drooped   The   Girl 

Like  leaf  from  mountain's  brow 
Call  on  the    Streamlet's  breast, 
Chant  to  the  breezes    how, 
Gently  on  currents  slow 
It  flow'd  to    reft. 

Sing !   Minstrel,  pour  thy  lay  -— 
The  lyre's  best  siring  is  mute ! 
Chant  the  young  queen  of  May, 
Whose  hand  forgets  to    stray 
Along  the  lute ! 

And  the  deep  voic'd  minstrel  spoke !, 
"She  hath  left  her  spirit   height, 
Like  tree    'neath  woodman's    stroke  ; 
Like  bird  with  pinion  broke  ; 
In  midway    flight. 

"She  faded  down  the  sky, 
Singing  such  melting    tone, 
That  the  wild  lark,  hov'ring  high, 
Struck  with  strange  melody, 
Forgot  his  own. 

m 


So   Drooped   the   girl 

"Cold  was  the  world's  bleak  shower, 
Along  her  cheek  of    pearl; 
And  like  the    passion  flower 
Chill'd  in  some  wintry  bower,— 
So  droop* d  the  girl. 

"Death  saw  and  lov'd  the   maid, 
(Oh!  prize  for  dark  decay) 
And  with  a  kiss  of  shade 
All  Judas-like,   betrayed 
The  bride  away 

"Along  the  silent  stair 

So  stealthy  was  his  tread, 

That  the  watchers  worn  with    care, 

Dream' d  not  of  robber   there, 

Till  he  had  fled. 

"And  the  watch  lamp  burning   low, 
Cast  o're  the  spoil  he  left, 
Dim  shadows  creeping  slow, 
Along  its  brow  of  snow, 
To  hide  the    theft. 


122 


So   Drooped   The   Girl 

"But  when  the  dazzling  day 
Streamed  out  from  orb  divine, 
They  read  by  the  tell-tale    ray, 
Which  bath'd  that  cheek  of    clay, 
The  spoiler's  sign. 

"They  kneW  that  she  had  died, 
That  the  archer's  claim  was  paid, 
Yet  one,  who  Stood  beside 
That  remnant  of  a  bride, 
Almost  had  said ; 

"  'How  beautifully  deep 
In  minstrel    trance  she  lies ! 
It  is  a  sin   to  weep, 
So  gendy  closes  sleep 
Her    soft  seal'd  eyes.' 


123 


THE   DEATH   OF    LEONORA 

1  see  thee  in  thy  summer  bower, 
The  fairest  and  the  sweetest  flower  ; 
The  sunshine  of  thy  happy  heart 
In  blushes    o'er    thy    features    start, 
And  weil  it  may,   sweet  maid,  for  ne'er 
Hast  thou  felt  wordly  doubt  or  care. 
And   like  thine  own   Italian  skies, 
Without  one  cloud  to  stain  their  bright 
Blue  boundless  depts  ---  thy  laughing  eyes 
Flash  through  their  lashes,  lustrous  light. 

The  rose-bud  gemm'd  with  morning's  dew, 
just  opening  to  the  glow  of  heaven ; 
Seems  not  so  sweet  as  the  rich  hue 
That  to  thy   rosy  lip  is  given. 
While  thy  dark  tresses  wild  and  free, 
Stream  in  the  balmy  breath  of  eve  ; 
A  sight  most  beautiful  to  see. 
Oh !   that  such  charms  should  ever  leave 
This  world  of  ours  —  such  dwellers  here, 
Would  change  it  to  a  glorious  sphere  ! 

So  sat  the  maid  in  beauty's  charms, 

Her  young  heart  fraught  with  feelings  kind ; 

Secure  from  danger  and  alarms, 

And  wooing  of  the  balmy    wind, 

That  swept  o'er  beds  of  fragrant   flowers.--- 


124 


THE     DEATH     OF     LEONORA 

While  slowly  rose  the  evening    Star, 
And  itilly  fell  the  dewy  showers  -- 
As  sweetly  in  her  silver  car, 
Came  twilight  with  her  solemn  beam 
O'er  mount  and  valley,   lake  and  slream. 

When  hurtling  in  the  golden  wesl 
Was  heard  the  thunder's  voice  of  ire ; 
And  round  each  peak  and  Alpine  creft, 
Leapt  the  red  lightning's  forked  fire, 
Yet  still    upon  the  scene  so  wild, 
Fair  Leonora  looked  and   smiled 
Strong  in  her  faith  —  the   lightning's  dart 
Or  thunder  peal  awed  not  her    heart. 

When  hark  !  a  crash  falls  on  the  ear, 
A  blighted  flower  the  maiden    lies ; 
Struck  by  the  lightning's  vivid    beam. 
Struck,  blighted,  never  more  to  rise  ; 
The  blush  has  fled  her  downy  cheek, 
Dimmed  is  the  light  that  fired  her  eyes  ; 
Her  rose  lips  never  more  shall  speak 
Sweet  words,  nor  breathe  soft  melting  sighs, 
She   sets,   a  slar  of  beauty  bright, 
In  death's  deep  sea  of  endless  night. 


125 


THE  POLITICIAN 


A  man  went  hustling  down  the  street, 
With  his  hat  pulled  o're  his  eye, 
He  took  his  strides  so  long  and  fleet 
That  every  one  he  chanced  to  meet, 

Stood  and  stared, 

And  then  declared 
That  he  was  some  legitimate  cheat, 
Rushing  away  to  the  County  Seat: 
He  shook  his  head  and  then  his  fist, 
And  once  he  struck  at  the  wind  and  mis»,d, 

He  slapped  his  thighs 

And  d d  his  eyes ; 

He  was  far  from  being  sound  asleep  , 
His  get-there  vim  was  hard  to  beat 

By  any  man  his  size. 

•  »  *  #  •  •  • 

I'll   make  his  case  quite  clear  at  once  ; 
He  was  just  a  big  politician  dunce  ; 

(still  this  is  no  surprise) 
For  these  big   Stiffs  pull  many  stunts 

To  make  us  think  they're  wise. 

126 


THE  LITERARY  GOAT 


The  goat  is  very  much  maligned ; 

His  tastes  perhaps  are  not  refined , 

But  in  his  own  peculiar  way, 

He  grasps  the  questions  of  the  day; 

And  takes  them  in  mosT:  thoroughly; 

A  literary  digest  he  , 

Of  great  capacity  and  power . 

Should  you,   like  me  to  pass  an  hour; 

Indite  some  verse,   I'm  sure  he  would 

Like  most  the  half-wits,  say  :"  that's  good. " 


/'  i\ 


127 


WAKE;  LADY  WAKE 


Wake !  lady,  wake  !  that  gentle  eye, 
The  voice  of  music  bids  unclose, 
We  stand  beneath  thy  lattice  high, 
To  Woo  thee  from  thy  soft  repose  : 
The  spell  of  sleep  is  not  so  strong 
But  wizard  words  the  charm  can  break  ; 
By  the  deep  powers  of  mighty  song, 
We  bid  thee  wake  —fair  lady,  wake  ! 

Wake !  lady,  wake  !   upon  the  lea, 
The  stars  look  down  serenely  bright ; 
The  moon  hath  fled  beyond  the  sea, 
That  thou  may's!  reign  the  queen  of  night 
Arouse  !   no  cloud  is  in  the  skies ! 
No  ripple  on  the  tranquill  lake  ; 
Lift  the  fair  lid  which  veils  those  eyes ! 
Sweet  lady,  wake  !— fair  lady,  wake  ! 

128 


RETROSPECTION 


Once  a    learned    thinking     man 
Who's     mind    was    always    free 
Who's    thots,  a  limpid    river    ran 
On    subjects  wearisome    to    man. 

(Not  wearisome  to  me) 
He    sat    alone     one     dreary    night 
Deep  thought  was  on  his  brow 
He  held   a  skull  beneath  the   light 
And   wondered,   wondered  how 
It  tared   with  him  who   hod  the  thina 
in    life,     and    was    he     now 
Where  all  was  ever-lasting   Spring, 
And  what  could  death  beslow. 
it  then  occurred  such  words  were  heard 
Though  plain  were  very  low : 

You  hold   the  ruins  of  my  skull, 
That  time  has  rendered  dark,and  dull. 
How  e'er  that  be  ;   t'was   life's    retreat  ; 
A  place   for  thots  mysterious  seat. 
What  beautious  visions  filled  this  spot ; 


129 


retrospection 

What  dreams  of  pleasure  long  forgot, 
No  hope,  no  joy,  nor  love,  nor  fear 
Has  left  one  trace  of  record  here. 

Beneath  this  mouldering  canopy 

Once  shone  a  bright  and  busy  eye: 

But  shrink  not  from  the  dismal  void,-- 

Or  question  what  that  eye  employed, 

For,  with  whatever  fire  it  gleamed  , 

In  its  own  way  it  has  beamed, 

And  it  shall  be  forever  bright 
When  all  has  sunk  in  endless  night. 

Within  this  hollow  cavern  hung 
The  ready,   swift  and  tuneful  tongue ; 
No  matter  what  it  has  disdained, 
How    long    in   motion    it    remained 
If  bold,  in   free   thots  cause   it   spoke ; 
Of  creeds  it  kept,  or  those  it  broke. 

Men  can  look  back  o're  life's  span 
But  to  look  ahead  —  no  man  can. 


130 


A  HEART  TO  LET 


To    be     let, 

To  be  let  at  a  very  desirable  rate, 

A  snug  little  house  in  a  healthy  eslate. 

Tis  a  Bachelors  heart,  and  the  agent  is  Chance, 
Affection,  the  rent,  to  he  paid  in  advance. 

I  he  owner,  as  yet,  has  lived  in  it  alone, 

So  the  fixtures  are  not  of  much  value  ;  but  soon 

Twill  be  furnished  by  Cupid  himself,  if  a  wife 
Take  a  lease  for  the  term  of  her  natural  life. 

1  hen  Ladies,  dear  Ladies,  pray  do  not  forget, 
An  excellent  Bachelor's  heart's  to  be  let. 

The  tenant  will  have  a  few  taxes  to  pay, 
Love,  Honor,  and  (heaviest  item,)  obey. 
As  for  the  good-will,  the  subscriber's  inclined 
To  have  that,  if  agreeable,  settled  in  kind ; 
Indeed,  if  he  could,  such  a  matter  arrange, 
He'd  be  highly  delighted  to  take  in  exchange, 
Provided  true  title  by  prudence  be  shown, 
Any  heart  unicumhered,  and  free  as  his  own. 
So  Ladies,  dear  Ladies,  pray  do  not  forget, 
An  excellent  Bachelor's  heart's  to  be  let. 


131 


OLD  ROMANCE 


Who  now  will  list  a  fairy  tale? 

The  golden  days  are  past, 

When  silvery  laughter  filled  the  gale, 

And  spirits  rode  the  blast ; 

When  every  cloud  upon  the  sky, 

Enshrined  an  elfin  throng, 

And  every  passing  butterfly, 

To    the    fairies    might  belong, 

When  each  leaf-murmur  was  a  spell, 

And  every  spring  was  a  haunted  well, 

And  every  flower  concealed   a  sprite, 

And  every  cave  some  wizard's  might. 

Alas,  the  golden  days  are  gone  ! 

We  live  in  a  world  of  brick  and  stone  — - 

O'er  the  green  meads  where  fairies  played, 

The  railway  bears  the  noise  of  trade, 

132 


Old  Romance 

Their  favorite  haunt,  a  tinkling  rill, 

Is  turned  from  its  course  to  turn  a  mill ; 

And  alas,  aW  for  the  heavies!  stroke ! 

Their  dearesl  home,  a  spreading  oak, 

Lies  prostrate,  hranchless,  Stripped,  and  sawn, 

Upon  some  thriftless  lording* s  lawn. 

The  days  are  past,  but  days  so  bright, 

Have  left  their  memory  yet  — 

There  is  a  gladness  in  its  light, 

And  yet  a   >oft  regret  — 

And  it  seem-,  in  calling  back  those  timea, 

As  if  on  the    spirit    fell 

A  sound  like  that  of  the  distant  chimes 

Of  a  merry  village  bell  — 

As    if    a  twilight  feeling  Stole 

Through  the  cold  world's  prison  bars 

Solemn  and   shadowy  on  the  soul, 

Yet  not  without  its  Stars  ;— 

As  if  a  low- wind -breath  had  crept 

133 


Old  Romance 

The  hearts  deep  mazes  through, 

And  sadness  from  its  strings  had  swept, 

And  yet  some  music  too. 

Our  fathers  to  their  dying  day, 

Believe,   but  we !—  we  fling  away 

These  graceful  fancies  with  our  toys; 

The  world  hath  now  no  girls  nor  boys ; 

Seeds  of  true  knowledge  now  are  sown ; 
Fancy  gives  place  to  thought  — 

All  are  not  men  and  women  grown, 

But  men  and  women   taught] 

Once  legends  pressed  from  mind  to  mind, 

In  all  their  beauty  undefined  — 

From  hearts  that  never  stopped  to  doubt, 

They  straight  to  other  hearts  went  out  — 

They  had  not  time  to  look  or  dwell, 

But  with  their  fancies  beautiful, 

And  rainbow  coloring,  richly  wrought, 

They  tinted  ail  the  world  of  thought. 

134 


Old  Romance 

How  different  to  receive  them  thus, 

Glowing  and  fresh  and  glorious, 

To  sitting    gravely   down  to    look 

For  tales  forgot  in  some  old  book, 

Where,  though  the  substance  may  remain, 

No  hue  of  life  it  can  retain ! 

Once  on  a  time,  long,   long  ago, 

I  cannot  tell  how  long  — 

(That  is  the  proper  way,  you  know, 

To  begin  a  fairy  song !) 

Once  on  a  time  there  lived  a  Queen, 

Of  very    slately    form  and   mien, 

With    Roman  nose,  and  fine  blue  eyes, 

And  forehead  of  the  amplest    size 

For  royal  wit  and  wisdom  framed 

Phrenology  was  not  then  named, 

But  surely  it  was  horn  — 

For  all  observed  that  lofty  brow, 

And  felt  their  souls  before  it  bow, 

135 


Old  Romance 

And  deemed  more  glorious  its  expanse, 
Than  even  her  dear  eye's  eagle  glance ; 
And  yet  there  was  no    scorn 
On  either  eye  or  forehead;— -she 
Was  as  good  natured  as  might  be, 
And  kind,  as  surely  might  befit 
A  queen,  with  so  much  sense  and  wit. 
Queen  Damaris  had  an  only  son  — 
A    noble    boy    was    he, 
And  he  had  grown,  at  twenty-one, 
As  spoiled  as  boy  could  be  ;— - 
No  matter,    he  was  heir  apparent 
To  a  crown's  glory,  and  the  care  on't, 
Son  of  a  very  learned  mother, 
Without  a  sifter  or  a  brother, 
Had  slaves  and  flatterers  by  the  dozen, 
And  one  beloved  and  lovely  cousin, 
An  orphant  —  and  the  sun  ne,er  saw 
A    fairer    thing    than    Agatha! 

136 


Old  Romance 


Brought  up  incloi&ered   loneliness, 

Something  of  pensiveness  was  laid 

Upon  a  mind,  that  sorrowless, 

Had  else  too  little  shade. 

The  healthful  beauty  on  her  cheek, 

The  Starry  luslre  of  her  eye, 

Shone  through  a  veil  serene  and  meek, 

That  wrath  their  gaiety; 

Yet  nothing  sad;—  if  I  may  be 

Allowed  a  common  simile, 

Her  soul  was  as  a  radiant  light, 

That  might  have  shown  too  dazzling  bright. 

But  for  the  cunning   graven  glass, 

Through  which  its  softened  rays  musl  pass  ;— 

And  so  her  spirit  free  and  high, 

Shone  through  a  medium-piety  — 

Which  her  young  ardent  bosom  warded, 

And  beautified  the  thing  it  guarded. 

And  this  was  Hubert's  destined  bride, 


n: 


Old  Romance 

The  heroine  of  my  tale-— 

A  few  more  days,  and  by  his  side 

Wrapt  in   her  bridal  veil, 

Before  the  altar  she  musT:  sland, 

And  with  her  heart  bestow  her  hand. 

She  left  her  kindred's  stately  halls, 

And  turned  unto  the  convent  walls, 

To  spend  her  few  free  hours  at  last, 

Where  her  pure  early  youth  had  pass'd. 

She  sat  alone   within  the  room, 

Her  own   so  many  years, 

The  starry  jessamin's  perfume 

Stole  through  the  gathering  twilight's  gloom  — 

Why  in   this  hour  are  tears 

Filling  her  eyes  ?  oh,  does  she  grieve 

That  little   twilight  room  to  leave  — 

That  flower- breath  sweet?  are  there  not  flowers 

As  fair  within  the  palace   bowers  ? 

So  hath  she  felt  their  breath  before  — 


138 


Old  Romance 

So  she  may  never  feel  it  more ! 
She  hears  the  solemn  rise  and  swell, 
Of  the  deep-toned  covent  bell; 
What  undefined  fears 
O'erwhelm  her  spirit?  is  there  aught 
Dark  'midst  her  future  prospects  wrought  ? 
No  ---  but  there  must  be  hours  wherein 
The  lightest  spirit  feels 
As  if  its  wishes  power  could  win 
To  unloose  the  solemn  seals 
Upon  the  future,  and  behold  ! 
Vague  undefined  dreams 
Of  hopes  destroyed,  and  feelings  cold, 
'Neath  sorrow's  icy  streams, 
Glide  o'er  the  heart ;  but  shadows  they 
Yet  do  they  sadden  whilst  they  stay. 
She  rose,  and  sought  the  chapel  old, 
In  every  childish  woe, 

139 


Old  Romance 

Her  hidden  sorrows  to  unfold, 
There  'twas  her  wont  to  go, 
And  now  once  more  therein  she  kneels, 
And  comfort  o'er  her  spirit  steals. 
It  is  the  hour  of  deep  midnight  ; 
The  moon  above  is  riding  bright, 
And  all  the  stars  up  in  the  skys, 
Look  o'er  the  earth  with  sof'ened  eyes; 
There's  not  a  breath  in  the  cypress  tree, 
There's  not  a  wave  on  the  glassy  sea, 
Yet  murmuring  low  its  waters  be. 
Clearly  the  light  on  the  convent  lies, 
The  convent  spires  gigantically  rise, 
And  where  the  ivy  mageslically   weaves, 
Scarcely  moves  its  cold  bright  leaves ; 
Through  the  window's  tinted  glass, 
Many-hued  the  the  moon-beams  pass ; 
And    in  the  clear  betraying  light 
Of  a  niched  window  white, 

140 


Old  Romance 

Stretched  before  the  altar  stone, 

A  lady  slumbereth  all  alone  — 

'Tis  Agatha,  the  lonely  one. 

Troubled  was  her  trance 

For  ye  could  not  call  it  sleep  or  rest, 

Whilst  heaving  was  her  snowy  breast, 

Like  the  unquiet  sea  ; 

And  words  of  broken  utterance 

Came  to  her  lips,  and  fearfully 

Swelled  and  throbbed  each  azure  vein, 

As  if  the  thots  within  her  brain 

Struggling,   would  have  found  their  way 

To  her  smooth  brow  broad  and  fair, 

Where  her  soft  dishevelled  hair 

Radiant  in  the  moonlight  lay. 

Never  had  that  lovely  face 

Borne    before  such    weary  trace 

Of   inner  anguish  —  -  never  pulse 

So  before  had  thrilled  her  heart  —- 

141 


Old  Romance 

Never  did  her  hands  convulse 

With  such  quick  and  twitching  ftart; 

Ah !  if  she  could  but  awake ! 

That  the  torturing  spell  might  break ! 

A  low  wind  sways  the  ivy  bough, 

A  breath  is  in  the  cypress  tree, 

A  clearer  light  is  shining  now 

A  light  that's  well  to  see  ; 

And  lo,  around  the  maiden  came 

A  band  of  beauteous  things, 

Some  clad  in  glorious  robes,  and  some 

Borne  on  most  radiant  wings  ; 

They  stand  around  the  sleeper  —one 

Hath  kissed  her  forehead  fair, 

And  one  hath  placed  a  flowery  crown 

Upon  her  floating  hair. 

And  one  is  murmuring  in  her  ear, 

In  accents  soft  and  low, 

A  song  of  some   unearthly  sphere, 

142 


Old  Romance 

Untinged  by  crime  or  woe. 

"  Come  to  our  land !  we  have  loved  thee  long. 

Come    to    our    revelry! 

We  will  cheer  thee  with  sweeter  softer  song 

Than  floats  earth's  dreary  paths  along, 

For  fairy  dreams  are  we. 

Come  where  our  flowers,  although  they  fade. 

Are  every  newly  blown— 

Where  the  canopy  of  light  and  shade, 

By  love  and  hope  and  memory   made, 

Hangs  over  slumber's  throne ! 

Come  where  the  heart's  deep  tenderness, 

Unchidden  gushes   free, 

Where  joys  are  brighter,  sorrows  less, 

And  we  thy  troubled  heart  will  bless, 

For  fairy   dreams  are  we!" 

And  straight  the  lovely  maiden  rose, 

And  stood  amidst   the   Dreams, 

Her   sunny   eyelids   did  unclose, 

t43 


old  Romance 

Yet  the  deep  magic  of  repose 

Was  on  each  outward  sense,  and  she 

Departed  thence  unconsciously ; 

And  the  morn's  quiet  beams, 

In  chill  unbroken  whiteness  shone 

Upon  the  vacant  altar  stone. 

The  chapei  all  was  still  again, 

The  silver  lamp,  and  pictured  saint, 

'Neath  the  pale  morn  looked  dim  and  faint 

Nothing  was  left  of  life  —  the  stain 

From  the  chancel  window  threw 

Silently  a  veil  of  blue, 

And  richest  purple  on  the  tombs, 

Like  the  spirits  of  those  blooms 

That  died  in   the  past  spring.  Beneath 

The  aisle  the  long  departed  lay  — 

They  were  slumbering  when  the   morn 

Rose,  and  its  glad  light  was  borne 

Into  every  aisle,  and  when 

144 


Old  Romance 

Sank  the  sun  to  rest  again, 

And  when  those  fairy  voices  sang, 

And  the  arched  roof  with  music  rang 

And  she,   the  link  'twixt  life  and  death, 

The  slumbering  lady  rested    there  — 

She  is  gone,   the   young    and  fair— - 

Yet,   the  dead  slill  slumber  on.  • 

It  is  the    depth  of  midnight's    hour 

Yet  they  rise  not,   nor  shall  rise 

'Till  from  the  red  and  melting  skies 

Shall  peal  the  trumpet-voice  of  power. 

The  morning  hath  arisen,  and,   lo, 

In  vain  they  search  the    convent  round  ; 

The      Lady     Agatha  is    gone ; 

But  on  the  silent    marble   slone, 

That  pillowed  her    dear  head,   is   found 

The  carcanet  that  her  neck  had  bound; 

Oh,   who  may  paint  the  woe, 

The  terror,   the  distradted  mein, 

145 


Old  Romance 

Of  Prince  Hubert  and  the  Queen- 
How  Hubert  mounted  his  fleetest  steed, 
And  scoured  the  country  o'er, 
With  twenty  knights   "all  good  at  need,1 
Who  threatened  loud,  and  swore 
That  they  would  bring  the    maiden  home, 
Or  crush  the  convent  spire  and  dome, 
And  make  the  abbess  sorely  rue 
That  ever     the  lady's  face   she  knew, 

A  year  and  a  day  had  passed  away, 

And  still  no  tidings  came, 

And  on  Prince    Hubert's  heart  decay 

Fed  like  a  creeping  flame, 

And  he  forsook  the  festal    board, 

The   dance,   the  song,    the    glee, 

And  heeded  not  the  red  wine   poured 

On  the    merry  minstrelsie, 

But  fed  upon  his  lonely  hoard 

146 


Old  Romance 

Of  pensive  revery. 

And  even  when  the  sunset  fell, 

And  twilight  veiled  the  earth, 

He  sought  a  little  quiet  dell 

Where  gushed  a  fountain  forth, 

And  upas  trees  made  whisperings  low, 

That  mingled  with  the  water's  flow. 

He    sat  beside  the  rivulet, 

And  gazed  upon  its  tide ; 

How  oft  he  saw  the  waters  fret, 

And  wash  the  sedgy  side 

And  then,  again,  how  tranquilly, 

He  watched  them  onward  glide ! 

He  thot  of  life's  uncertain  bliss, 

How   transient  all  its  pleasure  is, 

Many  lessons  grave  he  drew, 

From  the   evening's  fading  blue, 

And  the  twilight's  rising  dew 

And  then  he  sighed,  and  then  he  leanec 

147 


Old  Romance 


His  cheek  upon  his  hand, 

And  where  the  weeping  willow  screened 

The  rivulet's  verdant  strand, 

He  drooped  his  head,  in  musing  deep, 

'Till  o,er  him  stole  the  spell  of  sleep. 

Visions,  dark  and  undefined, 

Hurried  o'er  his  fevered  mind, 

Visions  of  gorgeous  sea  and    cloud, 

Head  long  cataracts  rushing  loud, 

Mingled  with  bright  summer  skies, 

Flowers  and   birds  of  many  clyes, 

And  more  than  all,  two  starry  eyes  — 

Yet  all  was  vague  and  troublous ;   he 

Turned  and  started  restlessly  ; 

Not   Agatha  when  e'er  she  dreamed, 

Within  the  ancient    chapel  seemed 

iMore  inly  tortured  --  thus  he  lay 

Till  the  twilight  past  away, 

And  the  morn,  with  placid     light 


US 


Old  Romance 

Shone  on  his  forehead  damp  and  white. 
While  thus  he  slept  two  radiant  things  — 
Two  fairy  Dreams  drew   near, 
One  with  the  smile  a  seraph  brings 
From  its  immortal    sphere ; 
The  other  with  a    sadder  look, 
That  more  of  earthly  thought  partook. 
The  first  came  gliding  on  the  beam 

Of  a  new  risen  star--- the  other 

Had  floated  up,  to  meet  his  brother, 

From    the  bosom  of  the  stream. 

And  near  the  slumbering  youth  they  drew. 

One  bending  on  each  side, 

And  the  long  silken  lashes  through, 

To  peep  into  the  summer  blue 

Of  his  closed  eyes  they  tried. 

Then  in  a  low  and  whispering  tone, 

Scarce  from  the  rivulet's  murmur  known, 

Or  rustling  of  the  evening  air, 

149 


old  Romance 

Those  fairy  dreams  held  convers  there 

And  first  the  sadder  of  the  twain, 

(With  eyes  that    gleamed  as  softly  blue 

As  the  pale  hare -bell  wet  with  dew,) 

Spake.     "Lo,  he  slumbereth  !  —  o'er  his  brain 

I  will  a  quiet  influence  breathe, 

1  will  dissolve  the  fearful  chain 

That  binds  the  struggling  heart  beneath  — 

Surely  long  enough    hath  borne 

This  young  heart  its  woe,  and  worn 

The    bands  that  hopeless  love  hath  knit  -— 

Surely  long  enough  to  prove 

How  a  human  heart  can  love, 

What  constant  faith  may  dwell  in   it. 

Where  is  she,   the  promised  bride? 

Hath  her  truth  been  fairly  tried  ? 

Wilt  thou  give  her  back  again  ? 

If  thou  wilt  not,   though   'tis  vain, 

I  will  bring  a    glorious  vision, 

150 


Old  Romance 

Bright  with  happiness  elysian, 

Fleeting  comfort  to  impart 

To  this  faithful,  sorrowing  heart!" 

Then  spake  the  other  Dream— "Forbear 

To  blame  the  powers  that  thus  have  hidden 

The  gentle  lady,    and  forbidden 

Unbroken  gladness  for  her  share 

Of  earthly    things.      Was  it     not  well 

To   try  what  constancy  can  dwell 

In  woman's  love?    That   lady  bright 
Is  safe  within  our  realm   of  light, 
And  we  have    shown  her  all  our  gems 
And  our  red  roses   whose  smooth  stems 
Bear  not  a  thorne,    and  palace  halls 
Built  up  of  cloud,     and  the  rich  falls 
Of  ruby  wine,  and  the  dear  river 
Of  crystal,   flowing  on  forever, 
But  still  her  heart  for   Hubert  yearns, 
Still  to  its  first  affection  turns,  — 
What  heeds  she  that  earth's  tenderness 
Is  but  a  more  delicious    thrall, 


151 


Old  Romance 


That  sorrows  on  his  hopes  may  fall? 

Her  love  can  sanctify  and  bless, 

And  cast  a  glory  o'er  them  all! 

We  gave  her  draughts  from  the  wondrous  bowl, 

Whose  streams  from  every  prisoned  soul 

Can  sweep  away  the  memory 

Of    aught  with  selfish  feeling  dim ; 

In  vain  to  her  those  streams  are  free, 

She  hath  forgotten  all,  save  him. 

Forgotten  the  royal  robes  and    crown, 

The  power  and  glory  of  a  throne 

Which  might  in  time  have  been  her  own 

She  heeded  not  their  gain  or    loss, 

And  stripped  of  every  earthly  dross, 

Stands  her  pure  love,   a  star  alone. 

Upon  the  blank  of  recollection, 

Its  innate  brightness  its  protection, 

From  the  silence  and  the  shade 

Oblivion  o'er  the  rest  hath  laid." 

Then  said  the  pensive  dream.      "Once  more 

I  do  beseech  thee  to  restore 


152 


Old  romance 

This  treasure  unto  earth,  for  she 

Is  worthy  of  her    royalty,  — 

The  trial  hath  been  made  —  is  past  — 

Give  her  to  happiness  at  last." 

Low  hung  the  moon  —  the  eastern  sky 

Already  reddened,  and  away, 

From  the  fast  'wakening  glance  of  day, 

Did  the  bright  visions    fly.  — 

And  Hubert  waked,  a  joy  intense 

Within  his  heart,  a  strengthening  sense 

Of  confidence,  of  happiness, 

Whose  hidden  spring  he  could  not  guess, 

Pervading  all  his  soul— -just  so 

He  felt,  a  year  and  a  day  ago  ! "  * 

Queen  Damaris  sitteth  in  her  tower,— - 

So  hath  she  sate  the  live  long  night, 

From  the  early  twilight  hour 

To  the  morning's  rising  light; 

Around  her  heavy  tomes  are  spread, 

Records  of  the  mighty  dead,— 

Yet  not  in  these  the  lady  read : — 

153 


Old  Romance 

In  her  hand  there  is  a  scroll, 
Before  her  stands  a  vacant  chair  — 

The  parchment  she  doth  not  unroll, -- 

Where  is  he  who  brought  it  there  ? 

At  the  midnight  hour  he  came, 

An  old,  old  man  with  visage  wan, 

And  stooping    gait,  and  hoary  hair, 

But  with  an   eye  of  darkest  flame. 

And  there  he  sate  and  talked  awhile, 

With  the  same  unvarying  smile, 

And  in  those  accents  firm  and  low, 

That  to   the  very  heart  does  go, 

And  while  the  eye  did  gleam  and  glisten, 

The  lady  was  compelled  to  listen  ; 

She,  who  whate'er  she  heard  or  saw 

Seldom  gave  sign  of  fear  or  awe ! 

She  saw  not  how  he  came  or  went, 

She  said  she  knew  not  his  intent, 

But  many  a  wild  and  strange  report 

Was  straightway  circled   round  the  court, 

And  as  no  lips,  however  wise, 

154 


Old  Romance 

Can  quite  forbear  some  kind  surmise, 

A  tale  was  presently  invented, 

To  which  the  gravest  heads  assented, 

And  thus  'twas    generally  received, 

As  worthy  to  be  quite  believed, 

They  said,  that  Damaris  had  not  been 

Contented  to  be  but  a  queen 

On  earth,  but  dipped  and  dabbled  more 

Than  was  quite  meet  in  magic  lore,-— 

That  having  won  more  power    than  human 

Nature  befits,  (and  least  a  woman,)  — - 

The  cunning  fairies  strove  in  vain 

Long  years,  to  break  her  mighty  chain, 

And  then  resolved  to  force  a  peace, 

By  stealing  off  her  lovely  niece, 

And   ne'er  restoring  her,  untill 

She  would  agree  to  do  their  will, 

Renouncing  every  mystic  spell, 

Over  the  powers  invisible  — 

And  to  confirm  this  theory, 

(Which  were  persuaded    would  not  be, 

155 


Old  Romance 

Because  we  know  'twas  but   to   try 

The  youthful  lover's  constancy, 

That  Agatha  was  borne  away  ;) 

Upon  the  evening  of  that  day, 

Queen  Damaris  her   pages  sent, 

To  bring  each  book  and  instrument 

From  the  lone  tower,    which  being  done, 

She  straightway  burned  them  every  one;— 

And   the  same  night  a    wakeful    crone, 

Who  to    the  chapel  late  had    gone, 

To  her  surprise  and  terror,  found 

A  body,   slumbering  on  the  ground, 

But  venturing  nearer,  gladly  saw 

The  fair  mild  face  of  Agatha  ! 

What  more  remains  to  tell  than  this,— - 

That  Hubert  and  his  gentle  bride 

Thru'     this  cold  world,  in  peace  and  bliss, 

Loving  and  loved,  did  glide  ? 

But  it  was  marked  that  ever  more, 

A  dearer  lustre  than  before 

Shone  in  the  lady's  quiet  eyes, 

156 


OLD  ROMANCE 

And  that  her  voice  had  harmonies 

More  deep  and  rich,  since  with  the  band 

Of  Dreams,   she  dwelt    fairy  land. 

And  she  had  knowledge  to  impart, 

And  that    best  wisdom  of  the  heart  — 

That  true  clear  wisdom,  that  doth  teach 

In  deeds,  and  by  its  actions  preach. 

And  "Oh,"   the  lovely  one  would  say, 

(And  'tis  the  moral  of  my  lay,) 

"True  love,  like  gold,    knows  no  decay, 

By  time  and  grief  it  feels  no  loss, 
They  only    ware    away   its     dross, 
It  is  a  portion  of  the  heart, 
And     can  a  vital  strength  impart. 
To  all  the  rest.—  Its  holy  trust 
Dependeth  not  on  fleeting  dust, 
And  where  undying  spirits  be 
It  hath    an  immortality  ! " 

FINIS 


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